Mama Bear
by Marion Hood
Summary: Family means more than blood. And that's more true than usual for the Winchester boys and their godmother.
1. In the fire burns

"JOHN!"

She caught sight of them sitting on the bonnet of what Mary had jokingly called his mid-life-crisis car. A broken little family with a gaping hole ripped in its side. John didn't look up until she was standing right in front of him, arms held open for Dean. The little boy allowed himself to be picked up and tucked his head into her shoulder. He was shivering, whether from shock or cold she couldn't tell, so she wrapped her jacket around him regardless. She'd never known the exuberant child to be so quiet.

"John?" She whispered.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, his voice empty.

"Mary..." She choked slightly on the name, but Hermione had known too much grief to let it cripple her completely. "She had me down as the boys emergency contact. The police called me." Hermione rubbed Dean's back feeling silent tears soak into her shoulders. "You're coming to stay with me, okay?"

"We can't." John swallowed. "They want to talk to us."

Hermione made a noise between pain and irritation.

"The police," She informed him, "Do not want to interrogate a baby and a little boy." She held out her free hand. "Give me Sam, John."

He shrank back, clutching Sam to his chest.

"Why?"

"Why?" She cried. "It's late, near freezing, just started raining and their home is burning down behind them. Sam needs to sleep, if he catches a cold it could be serious, Dean is in shock. For pities sake John, you're a mess yourself." She waved her free hand around them to encompass the chaos. "Let me take care of the boys. I'm their godmother, looking after them is what I'm supposed to do. So just let me do my job." She pleaded.

"How do I know I can trust you?" he demanded.

"What?" Hermione paused and looked into his eyes. She flinched at the pain and horror she found there. She hadn't seen someone look like that since the war. "Because Mary did." She told him simply.

John winced at her name, but handed Sam over. She cradled the baby against her other shoulder, grateful that they were both still so small.

"I'm going to get one of the officers to take us home. I'll give them my address and ask them to drop you off there. Okay?" She smiled at him, somewhat tearfully. "We'll work this out."

* * *

The ride home was as uneventful as could be expected. Dean remained tucked close to her side, still shivering, whilst Sam slept against her shoulder, occasionally sniffling. Mary had often said Sam could sleep through the Apocalypse. A fresh wave a grief washed over her and she hugged the boys a bit closer. She couldn't believe that Mary was actually gone. It just didn't seem possible.

She got Dean settled on the sofa and carried Sam into her bedroom, tucking him under the covers and surrounding him with pillows so he couldn't roll out. She'd had to change him out of his pyjamas which were soaked and covered in ash, but she wrapped him in a blanket, leaving his thankfully dry nappy on.

She made a quick fire call to Molly, who was in the kitchen of the Burrow making breakfast. Five minuets later she had an armful of Ron's old clothes which should fit the boys, several plates full of food and a bundle of blankets. They were thread bare and worn but at the moment they were all the Winchesters had. She thanked Molly profusely and closed the Floo connection, sending her Library into darkness. Activating the charms which hid her more magical items, she tucked her wand in her pocket and headed for the sitting room.

"Dean?" She called, sitting down next to the little boy. "Dean, sweetheart..." He blinked slightly and turned to look at her, green eyes wide and glassy. She held out a pair of pyjamas which were bright orange and had almost certainly came from Ron's love of the Chudley Cannons. "Can you get changed into these for me?"

Dean nodded and she led him to the bathroom, before she sank into a heap on the ground. Several minuets later he re-emerged and Hermione wiped the tears off her face and sat up from the floor, so she was at eye level with him.

"Where's Daddy?" He asked, incredibly quiet.

Hermione brushed some of the ash out of his hair, smiling sadly.

"He's talking to the police. Do you want to wait up for him?"

Dean nodded and Hermione wrapped a blanket around him. She left him on the sofa again and went to make some hot chocolate for them both. But the time she'd returned, he'd slumped sideways, exhausted. She picked him up and set him in her bed next to Sam.

"Night boys." She whispered, covering them with the duvet.

* * *

John didn't get there until almost three in the morning. Hermione wrapped a towel over his shoulders and made a pot of tea, because in truth she didn't know what else she could do. The man had just lost his wife, for Merlin's sake.

"We can't stay here." John said.

"Why not?" She asked carefully. She and John had never been close, in fact he had frequently voiced his opinion that Mary's friendship with a woman almost ten years younger than her was rather strange.

"I need to go after whatever son of a bitch killed my wife." He rasped, smoke inhalation and grief making his voice hoarse.

Hermione swallowed, not liking the look in his eyes, "I thought it was just a fire."

John got to his feet, pacing around the tiny kitchen.

"A fire wouldn't pin Mary to the ceiling or stab her through the stomach." He growled.

"Pin her...ceiling? John, are you being serious?" Hermione eyed him warily, one hand on the wand in her pocket.

"Look I don't expect you to believe me..."

"John..." Hermione placated. "You need some rest. It's been a long night. You can sleep on the sofa, the boys took the bed. I'll be in the Library." She pushed him towards the living room gently. "Maybe you'll think differently in the morning."

* * *

He didn't.

Hermione came downstairs holding a curious and somewhat confused Sam, to find John sitting on the sofa surrounded by tomes. _Aitkin's Advanced Demonology, Mythical Beasts of America..._almost every muggle book Hermione had on magical creatures was scattered around him, several of her rare copies left upside down or piled in heaps.

_At least the charms held_. She thought to herself.

"John...?" She asked cautiously. Sam tugged on one of her curls, seemingly fascinated. She'd have to find him something to eat soon. "What's going on?"

"I found it!" Hermione swallowed, staring at him as he got to his feet. "The thing that got Mary. I just..." He dragged his hands through his hair, looking like a man possessed. "I couldn't stop thinking that what did this wasn't human and then you had all these books and..." He frowned at her suspiciously. "Why do you have all these books?"

Hermione froze, before her usual lie tripped to the front of her mind.

"I'm an Anthropology student." She murmured. "It's part of my course work."

He accepted it instantly and she relaxed slightly.

"Right. Well, I think this stuff is real. I mean, look at this!"

He shoved the demonology under her nose, finger tapping at the section about demonic traits.

"Telekinesis, possession." Hermione hugged Sam tighter to her as the man's movements became even more frantic. "Don't you think it's _possible_ that something like this could have hurt Mary?"

Hermione drew in a shuddering breath.

"John, these things aren't real..."

He stilled and a sneer twisted his face.

"Oh really. What's this then?"

Hermione swallowed as she took in the bound sheaf of papers, hanging from his fingers.

"My dissertation." She whispered.

"Yeah. And what's it called? "_The effect of the supernatural on modern America and those who oppose it._""

She shuddered and took a step away from him, one hand reaching for her wand.

"John, none of that's real. It's written from a purely..."

"Oh don't give me that bullcrap!" He yelled. Sam wailed and Hermione shushed him, bouncing on her toes like she'd seen Mary do. The baby subsided into snuffles and she turned back to his father in time for him to start quoting. "Page six, "_Although I have never come into contact with the hunters their success rate alone is something to be applauded. That the number of lives saved through their actions is in the hundreds, should be enough for them to be given special leeway in the eyes of the Ministry." _This stuff is real and you know it."

"Fine!" She snapped, losing her temper. "It's real. I was researching this and came across the legends which made too much sense and the accounts that were too reliable to completely dismiss."

"And these hunters?" he demanded.

Hermione scowled.

"Yes. They exist. They go out there and they hunt these things."

John nodded slowly, seeming to come to a realisation.

"Something like this killed Mary. She was _pinned _to the ceiling."

Hermione sighed and sat down in one of her armchairs, settling Sam in her lap. He reached out to his father who ignored him, too busy flicking through another of her books.

"Okay." She ordered. "Tell me what happened, John."

"I heard her screaming..." His voice wavered slightly. "And I went up to Sammy's nursery. There was no one there but Sammy. All the windows were locked and the door was shut before I got there...And then I saw the..." He swallowed. "The blood. Dripping onto Sam's cot and I looked up and..."

Hermione sighed.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

She looked at him, one arm holding Sam in place when he attempted to roll away.

"Oh no. I believe you." Hermione sighed deeply. "Trust me that's not the strangest thing I've ever come across. How did the fire start then? What did it look like? Normal camp fire or something else?"

John began to pace.

"It was yellow. It didn't start until I saw her." He swallowed. "It moved so quickly. I only just got the boys out in time."

Considering that...it did seem possible. She grimaced.

"I think you may have been onto something with your idea about a demon. Maybe." She shoved her hair back over her shoulders and away from Sam's grasping fingers. "Or at least something...unusual. It's too many coincidences for it to be something else."

"Well, who do you know that can tell us for sure? You mentioned the Auror Corps and some Ministry."

Hermione froze, realising too late that her dissertation was written from a magical perspective.

"They're like special forces. Back in England. They can't...or at least, they won't, help us out here. A hunter might, but I don't know where to find one. They travel around from what I've found out about them. Rarely stay in one place."

He whirled.

"But what about you?"

She almost knocked Sam from her lap, she was so startled.

"Me!"

"You know about this stuff. You must know how to track it down, kill it?"

Hermione gaped at him.

"I'm a _scholar_, John. Just because I know what these things are does not mean I know how to kill them or that I want to."

"How do I kill it?" He repeated, towering over her.

Hermione felt like screaming, she'd forgotten how damn stubborn John could be. How many times had Mary complained of the same thing?

"John, you cannot just go gallivanting off on some revenge trip. I've got two boys here who need their father. One of whom is _six_ months old!"

"I'll take them with me. We've got the Impala still. Money in the bank. My gun. Sam sleeps most of the time anyway and..."

Hermione stared at him.

"_You're_ insane." She realised. "Completely insane. This is the grief talking. You have no idea how to fight these things, no way of knowing where it's going to strike next. You could get seriously hurt or killed even!"

He wasn't listening, rambling on as though she hadn't spoken.

"It has to have done this before. I just need to look for similar cases, police reports. I can find it." He told her, almost excitedly.

"John, that's not the point. You've got no training, no experience and you want to drag two little boys with you? You would be gone for who knows how long, dragging them through Merlin knows what. They are _children_, John. They need regular meals and a home and toys and to be spoiled, _especially_ after what just happened to them. Dean was terrified last night. Sam probably won't remember it of course, which is a blessing. Do you really want to raise them on some sort of revenge trip?"

"What else am I supposed to do with them?" He argued. "I've got no family, Mary lost touch with hers. I can't just dump them on strangers."

"They are your sons, John." She snapped, prompting Sam to start crying again. "You shouldn't be considering dumping them on anyone. They're all you've got left. And you've got me!" She yelled, trying and failing, to keep her voice at a regular level.

"What?"

Hermione snarled at him and concentrated on getting Sam to stop crying before he woke his brother. She got to her feet, pacing to sooth the baby.

"John Winchester, you were there the day Mary had those boys christened." She hissed. "I made those vows in front of you, no matter how stupid you thought they were. Sam and Dean are as much my responsibility as yours. If you think I'll let you do this..." She sighed and stared down at the coffee table again, knowing a lost cause when she saw one. "If you are set on this...and I don't mean tomorrow, I mean after the funeral...then there are things we need to sort out."

"Like what?"

"Like guardianship." Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously. "I am going to need the legal clout to look after these boys. What if something happens to you? The first thing social services will do is take them away from here. I may never be able to get them back. Do you want that?"

John scowled at her.

"No."

"Good. There are other matters. We'll have to change their names..."

"What? No!"

She almost cursed at him.

"Don't be an idiot. Finding two boys when you know their surnames isn't exactly hard."

"No." He shook his head. "No way."

Hermione visibly ground her teeth.

"_Fine. _I'm going to have to move. That thing knew where you were. I don't like the idea of staying in a town it's familiar with."

"How do I even know you can handle this? You're what, twenty three? What the hell do you know about protecting children?"

Hermione straightened her spine and gave him look he'd been given by seasoned veterans in the Marines.

"I have been through more than you can imagine. I owe Mary so much for getting me through that. And I will do _everything _in my power to keep her children safe. Do you understand me?"

John nodded, clenching his fists.

"Where do we start then?"

"There's a physic in town. Goes by the name of Missouri Mosley." According to the local wizards the woman was so good, she'd had to be obliviated at least three times. "If you really want to start somewhere, start with her."

* * *

A hand slammed down onto the lid of one of the boxes she was packing.

"Honey, we need to talk."

Hermione looked up.

"Missouri Mosely, I presume?"

"Mmmhmm."

Hermione led the woman over to the sofa.

"You sent John Winchester to see me. His wife is dead and now some witchling is gonna look after his kids...don't you look at me like that. Those mindwipes didn't take as well as they thought." Missouri gave her a long look, filled with trepidation and sadness. "You got a long hard road coming to ya. You know that?"

Hermione nodded.

"I figured I might. You told him what he needed to hear?"

"You're a smart one, ain't cha? Yeah, I told him. Man in that kinda mood wasn't going to listen to sense nor reason. Went to have a look at that house. Whatever it was that went after that poor woman, it was _evil._" She hissed the word. "You know evil. You've seen it. It's written all over you. You gonna do what you can to keep these boys safe?"

Hermione nodded slowly.

"Whatever it takes." She whispered.

* * *

**_I own nothing.  
I should say that timelines should really be thrown at the window in regards to this fic._**

**_Updating should be fairly quick. I've gotten most of it written all ready._**

**_So let me know what you think!_**

**_Hood_**


	2. Growing up

Hermione stared at Sam who wailed defiantly, arms and legs kicking wildly.

Despite her bravado with John, her knowledge of small children was...limited. Dean wasn't such a problem, especially when you considered he was just a small person. He could tell her what he wanted easily enough and she'd babysat him often enough that she knew his habits.

Sam was another matter entirely.

Hermione was an accomplished woman, but maternal she was not. She'd never been one of those girls who flocked to babies, cooing and ahhing. She'd had work to do. In fact Sam was the only baby she'd ever really had contact with and even then Mary had been able to translates Sam's gargles with a fluency which came from a mother of two.

Sam's wails turned into screams and Hermione almost joined in.

"I'm going to hell for this." She muttered, raising her wand. "_Ligillimens._"

Hermione's mind filled with irritation, confusion and...

"Oh..."

Hermione summoned a blanket from across the room and swaddled Sam in it, tucking him against her shoulder. Dean was out in the garden so she could risk a little magic.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." She murmured as Sam finally stopped crying. "I don't know how to do these things."

It wasn't like she'd read his mind anyway. Sam didn't really have thoughts or at least not recognisable ones and Hermione wasn't good enough at the mind arts to be able to do much more than read surface thoughts. Sam sniffled and she smiled down at him. It had taken Sam some time to get used to a person who smelled different and didn't know him as well as his mother. They were both adjusting.

"'Mione?" Dean stumbled in from the garden, one small hand rubbing at a streak a dirt across his face. He navigated the boxes Hermione still hadn't unpacked from the move and clambered onto the sofa.

"What's wrong?" She whispered, trying not to wake Sam.

"Is Sammy sleeping?" Dean whispered, so quietly she almost missed it.

"Yes. Thank Merlin."

The little boy nodded seriously and curled up next to her.

"When's Daddy coming back?"

Hermione sighed. John had left two days ago, off after his first lead, with nothing more than a "Take care of Sammy." for Dean.

"I don't know, darling." She sifted her fingers through Dean's hair. It was fairly long, he'd need it cut soon. Sam snuffled in his sleep.

"An' Mommy?"

She winced, drawing in a hitched breath. Mary had only been gone three weeks and everyday Dean asked her the same question. She suspected he'd have asked John except the first time he had, John stormed out. Up until now she'd deflected the question, hoping, somewhat selfishly, he'd stop asking.

"She's not coming back." She whispered, heart breaking as his face crumpled.

"Doesn't she like us no more?" The boy cried.

"What?" Hermione reached out with one arm and lifted Dean into her lap, shifting Sam slightly. "Dean, your mummy loves you very much. So so much. Okay?" She dropped a kiss onto his head, trying to will away the tears. "Don't you ever forget that." She begged.

"Then why can't she come back?" He pleaded, tugging on her t shirt. "I want my mom, 'Mione!"

"I know, sweetie." Sam stirred, irritated at the noise. Hermione sighed. "You know about Heaven, don't you?"

Dean's forehead crinkled as he considered the question.

"Where the angels are? The ones that look at you?"

"Watch over you." She corrected, smiling. "But yes. That's where your mum's gone, okay. She's watching over you right now."

"So she's an angel?" He guessed.

Hermione laughed at that.

"If anyone would be, it'd be your mother." She told him fondly. "Now shall we go see if Sammy will sleep lying down?"

_Please,_ she begged internally.

* * *

Hermione was purging. Not herself, of course, but her life.

She was sorting her possessions into two piles. What was safe to keep and what had to be hidden. All of her magic books were pacled away into boxes and warded shut. Her potions kit she could keep, although some of the more magical items had to be keep sealed away and put out of Dean's reach. Sneek-o-scopes, photographs, newspaper clippings all had to hidden away. Her subscription to the Daily Prophet was cancelled (again) and she sent out a letter to anyone concerned explaining the situation and asking that they refrained from using owl post.

In short anything that could give John the faintest clue to her past, was banished. She put muggle repelling charms on the basement to keep him out and warded the entire place from top to bottom. The only thing she could afford to keep were the things she could pass off as muggle.

Unfortunately this purge involved something a lot more personal as well. Carefully she sealed her engagement ring in an envelope and gave it to the waiting owl, who smacked her across the face with it's wing as it left.

Something told her Ron wasn't very happy about her decision.

* * *

Hermione cheated her rule occasionally. Simple things like magical cleaning products (because she had no idea _what _Dean had gotten down his front, but nothing short of a miracle was going to get it out) or magical remedies (Sam could catch a cold from half a mile away) went unnoticed. And if she sometimes cursed the occasional vindictive neighbour with a brown lawn, well who was to know?

* * *

It took time for the boys to get used to her. Sam didn't care either way as long as he had his brother and someone fed him. Dean on the other hand...Before his mothers death he'd been a mischievous boy who got on with everyone and was usually in some form of trouble. Mary used to say that he got that from her side of the family. But as his fifth birthday came around he slowly came back to him, talking more and more to Hermione. The happiest she saw him was the nights when John came to visit, where he'd follow his father around the house, grinning from ear to ear. Of course, because John wanted Dean to know what was out there, this caused problems.

"Mione?"

Hermione peered at the little boy who was peeping around the door frame.

"What's wrong, little one?"

"There's a monster under my bed."

_She was going to kill him._ John, not Dean. Wasn't the poor boy's fault his father didn't know better than to not give the boy nightmares.

"What sort of monster?"

"Witch."

_Of course it was._ John's latest, and deadliest, hunt had involved a witch in Montana who had almost killed him.

"Not all witches are bad." She pointed out.

Unsurprisingly, this didn't seem to console Dean, who stamped his foot on the kitchen floor.

"This one is!"

Hermione laid down her pen and nodded.

"Right. Okay, what hurts witches?"

The boy screwed up his face as he thought about it.

"Iron." she supplied when he didn't seem to have an answer. Sighing, Hermione grabbed the large iron poker she kept by the fireplace. Iron only weakened witches, but she didn't think it would be a good idea to tell Dean right now.

Dean jumped onto the middle of his bed, unwilling to leave his feet dangling over the side where anything might snatch at them. Hermione lay flat on her belly, slid half under his bed and then proceeded to pound the daylights out of the floor with the poker. Somewhat ruffled, she slid back out and peered up at Dean through her hair. Dean, who'd peered over the side of the bed to look at her, giggled.

"Is she gone?" Hermione asked. Dean had accepted early on that the monsters in his room were under some sort of spell which stopped Hermione from seeing them and therefore _he _had to give the all clear. And people said logic didn't work on children.

"Yep."

"Right." She got to her feet and tugged the duvet over him, tucking him in carefully. "You need to go to sleep, Dean. Okay?"

"Okay, 'Mione."

She huffed, propping the poker next to his bed.

"Night, trouble. Love you."

She'd clicked off the lights before he replied.

"Love you too, Aunt 'Mione."

And that made a battered hardwood floor worth it.

* * *

Hermione glanced across the crowded classroom, ignoring the interested glances the other parents shot her. She shifted Sam on her hip, who was watching the colourful room with interest.

"'Mione?" He whispered in her ear, worried by the crowds of people.

"Yes, sweetheart?" Hermione muttered distractedly, busy scanning the room for Dean.

"Dean?" He asked.

"He'll be here." she assured, used to his one word questions. This was the first time Sam had spent a day without seeing Dean and he'd been unhappy all morning.

Well unhappy was putting it lightly. Bloody impossible was being more honest.

"SAMMY!" Dean bounced up to her. "Look what I made, 'Mione." He held out a picture. Only through sheer determination did she not let her smile slip. It was unmistakably a demon trap done in bright green crayon, all squiggly lines. He must have copied the one under the rug at home.

Ignoring the accusing glare of Dean's school teacher and the mutterings of "_Devil Worshippers_" from the other adults, Hermione hurried her boys out of there and into the car.

"Shall I stick that to the fridge?" She asked, as they made their way across town. Dean frowned as though making a difficult choice. It was the face he wore when he had to choose between puddings.

"Yes." He said decisively, before going back to playing with Sam's toes.

"How was school?" She asked.

The temper tantrum she'd dealt with this morning when Dean realised Sam wasn't going with him, had almost made them late. Hermione had just managed to snap a picture of him before the bell rang (Mary would never have forgiven her if she hadn't) and the boy had stormed off, wearing a terrific scowl. At five and a half he was one of the oldest in his class, Hermione having preferred to keep him safe at home for as long as possible.

"It was really really _really _good!"

Hermione laughed.

"Was it? Wow."

"I met a guy called Barry an' we played on the grass an' the teacher let us do colouring in an'..." Dean kept up a steady chatter all the way home and Hermione smiled along, glad that something was going right in the boy's life.

* * *

"That's not my tiger, it's teeth are too bumpy."

Sam, sensing his cue, reached out with his finger to touch the corrugated cardboard which covered the illustrations teeth.

"You know what I want to know?" Hermione asked him. "I want to know why I'm teaching you to put your hand in a tiger mouth. Those teeth aren't bumpy, they're _sharp _and dangerous." She lifted Sam into the air, so she could stare into his eyes. "Here's an important life lesson, Sam. _Run away_! Do you know how much trouble I could have avoided if I'd just run away? Loads. So what do we do when we meet a tiger? We run away as fast as we can. Don't we?"

Sam reached out and grabbed her nose, giggling.

"Yeah, yeah. Here I am, trying to impart my wisdom and what are you doing?" She went cross eyed, much to Sam's amusement. "Pulling on my nose."

Carelessly she summoned a rather large leather tomb which had belonged to her father and settled him back down in her lap.

"If anything will get you down for your nap, it's this. Okay? Chapter one, "_Among other public buildings in a certain town which, for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning..."_

It took four chapters of Dickensian writing for Sam to fall asleep.

* * *

There were times when Hermione got the impression that real mothers went through some sort of metamorphic change when pregnant and blossomed into this wonderful maternal persona. Because she was almost certain she was doing something wrong when it came to raising Sam and Dean. John didn't seem to notice anything wrong, but that was probably because John was barely around. Several other hunters had taken pity on him, training him up and he'd been across the country at least twice on hunts. Worrying came naturally to Hermione, it always had. But this was different. These were real children and she could afford to not do her best because she could, quite possible, ruin their lives. Maybe it was because other mothers had friends...Hermione didn't have much compant ourside of the Winchesters. Was she going mad?

"Aunt 'Mione?"

Hermione gazed at Dean, not really seeing him. There was a lot of Mary in the boy, but a lot of John as well. It could be a rather disconcerting thing to see in a five year old.

"Yes?"

"Sam's eating crayons again."

"What!" She yelped, leaping across the room.

Dean followed her as she rescued the now soggy crayons from the toddler.

"Can't let you out of my sight for a second, can I?" She teased. Sam blew a raspberry at her. "Wonderful."

* * *

It had been a particularly tiring Tuesday and had taken the better part of two hours, three stories about Hogwarts and a mug of cocoa each to convince the boys to go to sleep.

Hermione collapsed on the sofa and pulled the sheaf of parchments towards her. Her translation and Arithmancy work was the only thing that brought in any income for their family. She couldn't afford to shirk it. Her inheritance from her parents was _substantial_ but there was nothing like having children to look after, to chip away at your funds.

But apparently the universe felt that she didn't have enough to worry about, because there was a knock on the door.

Hermione glanced at the wall clock, summoning her wand, her other hand pulling the handgun John had insisted she buy, from its hiding place.

She opened the door a crack, wedging her foot behind it.

"Hello dear."

Hermione almost dropped the gun in shock.

"Mrs Weasley." She gasped.

The older redhead smiled.

"We haven't seen you in a while, dear."

Hermione stared at her through the gap, carefully exchanging the gun for the bottle that now sat permanently on the hall stand.

"Mrs Weasley, I hate to ask, but could you stick your hand out for a moment?"

Looking slightly confused, Molly allowed her to pour Holy Water onto her palm.

"What did you ask me before we left that year?" Hermione demanded.

Molly frowned but answered anyway.

"I asked you to stay with Harry, no matter what."

Hermione smiled opening the door and allowed herself to be drawn into a bone crushing hug.

"Come in, please."

Molly smiled approvingly as they wandered through the house and into the kitchen.

"You have a lovely home."

"Er, thank you."

Hermione filled her large kettle and set it to boil, automatically setting out biscuits on a plate for the older woman.

"Not that I'm not pleased to see you, Mrs Weasley..."

"Molly. Please."

Hermione gave a strained smile, feeling utterly exhausted.

"Molly. But what are you doing here?"

The kettle whistled and Hermione filled the teapot setting it on the table with a pair of mugs that Dean had painted at school. Molly smiled at the childlike painting, tracing the letters of Sam's name.

"I came to visit my grandchildren." She said eventually. "And to see how you were coping." She took a long drink of tea and frowned. "And by the looks of things I'm glad that I did."

Hermione stiffened, eyes narrowing.

"Molly..."

"You look tired." The red haired witch said bluntly.

Hermione shrugged.

"The boys keep me busy. We're doing okay though." She tried to keep the defensiveness out of her voice, but knew she wasn't entirely successful.

Molly gave her a disbelieving look.

"I've raised six children, Hermione. I know _exactly_ how tiring they are."

Hermione hummed at that.

"So tell me about them." Molly prompted.

Hermione gave a weary but proud smile.

"Sam and Dean are their names. Don't know if you knew. Dean's six now, in his first year at primary school, or whatever these Americans call it." She rolled her eyes. "I don't pretend to understand it. He's doing fine. Got lots of friends. Runs around like a lunatic most of the time. Sam's the little one. He's two." She smiled, tracing the rim of her mug with her finger. "He's a little sweetheart mostly. Very quiet, spends most of his time following Dean around."

Molly nodded happily.

"He sounds like Percy. That boy spent his entire childhood following William and Charlie around. Worshipped them, he did. Of course you wouldn't guess it now." Molly gave a deep sigh. "How are you coping? Really."

"I'm..." Hermione gave a half sob, almost two years of constant stress overwhelming her before she reined her emotions back in. "I'm doing all right. It's been a bit of an adjustment, having two kids to look after. I was never really the maternal type and to be honest I have no idea if I'm doing this right."

The older witch rubbed her shoulder consolingly.

"Hermione, dear. There's no right or wrong way to be a mother. Still...How's their father been?"

"John? Oh he's not around much. We haven't seen him in two months actually." Hermione gave a half hearted laugh. "Makes some things easier. Upsets Dean a bit though."

"Hmmm."

"Are you staying?" Hermione asked.

"Well if it's not too much bother...?"

Hermione shook her head.

"It's fine." She got to her feet. "I'll show you to the guest bedroom."

* * *

"'Mione."

Hermione groaned into her pillow in an attempt to ignore the tugging on her hair. Years of experience told her it was probably intolerably early in the morning.

"'Miiiione!"

"What's wrong, Sam?" She mumbled, untangling the small hand from her curls. Sam appeared to be sitting on her back. "Can you get off me, sweetheart?"

"Sorry." Sam rolled to the side so he was sitting by her head as she pushed herself up to look at him.

"What's wrong?" _And how did you get out of your cot?_ She added silently.

"There's a lady. But Dean won't let me look!" The toddler whined, scowling.

_Overprotective as always_. Hermione sighed and swung her legs out of bed, ignoring her alarm clock which told her it was just after six.

"All right. Do you want to walk or be carried?"

"Carry."

Hermione laughed and scooped up the little boy. Sam could be a bit clingy sometimes, she was just lucky he was small for his age.

"Dean..." She called, startling the boy who'd been standing guard at the kitchen door. "It's all right, sweetheart. She's not here to hurt you."

"Course not." Molly added cheerfully, the smell of cooking breakfast wafting across the kitchen. "How much do these boys eat?"

Hermione settled Sam into his chair and shrugged.

"Ron and Ginny, respectively. You didn't have to make breakfast, Molly." She chided.

"Nonsense. Now..." Molly rested one hand on her hip and smiled at the boys. "Are you two going to introduce yourself?"

"'m Dean and that's Sammy." Dean mumbled.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you. You can call me Grandma Weasley. That's what James calls me." She added significantly.

Hermione frowned, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Who?"

Molly stared at her.

"Don't you know?"

She shook her head, one eye on Sam, who was making faces at his brother.

"James is Harry's son. He's almost a year old now."

Hermione blinked furiously.

"What?" She gasped. "I didn't..."

"They didn't tell you, did they?" Molly attacked the frying pan with a furious energy, glaring at it as though it was personally responsible. "I told them to."

"Harry and Ron...They never understood my decision to move out here." She handed Dean a glass of orange juice. "I haven't heard from them since Ron broke off the engagement. Fleur sends letters occasionally, Luna and Neville too. And I got the Christmas cards."

"Well, that's going to change." Molly dropped two plates onto the table, a fond smile coming across her as Dean whooped in delight. "You've got a life out here, Hermione. It might not be the one they wanted for you but these boys need you. I'll set them straight."

Hermione chuckled.

"Molly, they're grown men."

"And I'm their mother!" Molly grinned at her, looking youthful despite her greying hair. "You remember this, Hermione. Your sons will never be too tall to be told off by their mother."

"They're not my sons." Hermione pointed out.

"Yes, they are, dear. As sure as you're my daughter."

* * *

"Hermione why aren't you using magic?"

Hermione stared at Molly.

"Keep your voice down." she hissed.

Molly stared back, unimpressed.

"The only other person in this house is Sam and he's two. I think you'll be fine. So, tell me?"

The younger witch sighed and went back to scrubbing the frying pan.

"It's too risky. I'm living in a muggle neighbourhood, Molly. If the boys were to see and they told John...Let's say I don't want to find out how fireproof I am."

It was a testament to the lack of proper education about the muggle world, that this statement went unchallenged. Witches as a whole were still very upset about the entire trials catastrophe.

"You've still got your wand on you?"

"Molly, I am not fifteen any more." Hermione sincerely wished she sounded less childish when she said that. "I always have it on me and the house is fully warded."

Molly nodded and accepted the tea towel to wipe the dishes dry.

"What happened to your degree?"

Somewhat ruefully Hermione thought back to the law degree she'd been studying for and had left abandoned in Kansas.

"I had to drop it. I didn't have the time and..." she shrugged. "It wasn't practical or necessary to keep studying."

"But you've found work?" Molly prompted.

"Yes. I do translation work for a number of muggle universities and I run an arithmancy business. Sometimes people need a good potion brewer. I get by." Hermione gave a long sigh and rubbed her bare left ring finger. "Molly, I have to ask. Why are you being so supportive? I thought you were all for the engagement."

Molly folded her arms over her apron and frowned.

"No. I wanted you settled and you marrying Ron would have achieved that. To be honest, I always thought you and Percy would be a much better match, but he's found himself a nice girl. She's a secretary or something. Sensible head on her shoulders at least." Molly blinked and seemed to catch up with herself. "I'm supportive because you need support, in part at least. This is an incredible burden for you to have taken on, completely selfless too. But also because you're settled."

"I don't follow."

"Hermione, all I want for my children is for them to be settled. It doesn't mean married necessarily, it means safe. People who are settled having something to live for, a reason, if you like. Something that keeps them going, gets them up in the morning. My brothers, Gideon and Fabien...they were a bit like Fred and George in some respects. Jokers, life of the party. But they never settled. Said our family motto was a load of rubbish."

"Family motto...?" Hermione asked, now rather curious as to where this was going.

"The Prewitt family motto "_For home and hearth_". It's why family so important to me, dear. Anyway...my brothers. They never settled and there was a war on and of course they jumped right into battle." She stared off out the window. "You know the people who fight hardest are the people who have something to go home to. My brothers died and I always thought, if maybe they'd settled, they wouldn't have taken so many risks..." She wiped a tear away from her face. "Still...You're settled here. You've got yourself two boys to look after and I reckon they'll look after you too. Family is more than blood, you know."

"I know, Molly."

* * *

"Right, well I'd best be off."

Sam and Dean glanced up horrified, having grown used to Molly's cooking.

"But why...?" Dean grumbled.

Molly smiled indulgently.

"I've got my own boys to look after, you know. Charlie especially. Silly bot is lost without me."

Hermione helped Molly get her things together and soon they were standing at the front door, lit by the setting sun.

"Now you two be good?" Molly asked.

Dean nodded dutifully, well aware of how such goodbyes were supposed to go. Molly gave him a kiss on the cheek before she turned to Sam.

"You look after your mother, okay Sam?"

Sam's forehead crinkled in confusion but he nodded as well and received another kiss.

"You take care, Hermione."

"Yes, Molly." _No Molly, three bags full Molly._

Molly gave her a frown that told Hermione that the older witch had probably guessed what she was thinking and set off down the garden path.

* * *

Hermione wouldn't hear from Harry and Ron for another two years and even then it took sometime before their friendship was anywhere near what it used to be. Still she forgave them. Molly became Sam and Dean's surrogate grandmother, showering them with birthday gifts, jumpers and, when she found out about Dean's favourite pudding, more pie than the boy could ever eat.

* * *

"Why is my son drinking tea?"

Hermione eyed John warily. It was one of the rare occasions where he stayed for lunch and as happened every day, Sam got a cup full of juice and Hermione and Dean drank tea. Although Dean's _was_ heavily doctored with milk and sugar. Hermione may have had her doubts about her ability to raise children but by Merlin she was going to raise them the way her parents raised her.

"Because he likes it." She knew better than to ask Dean to confirm this. At the first sign of his father's disapproval, Dean would come to heel faster than a puppy dog.

John lapsed into muttering and Hermione occasionally caught words like "_damned British_" and _"brainwashing."_

She ignored him and stopped Dean from adding another spoonful of sugar to his cup.

* * *

They had their danger nights. Unfortunately Hermione couldn't indulge in her favourite unhealthy coping method, which involved a bottle of fire whiskey and some dedication. Halloween, which none of the family celebrated, was particulary bad. It hit too close to home for the boys and brought up too many bad memories for Hermione. But May the first and November the second were worse.

So whenever an anniversary came around, Hermione would put on the happiest children's movie she could find (as long as it didn't involve clowns), make a large bowl of popcorn (without sugar, because old habits die hard) and settle down with the boys in front of the TV with the sound turned up. It wasn't a fool proof method. Dean got nightmares whenever November came around, that left the boy screaming. Sam didn't really understand what all the fuss what about but seemed content to go along with it anyway. Hermione envied him sometimes.

* * *

Hermione flicked her wand, filling the trench with more mixture. They had just moved into their third house since Mary's death and Hermione was fulfilling what had become an irritating but necessary ritual. The boys were asleep upstairs on camp beds and Hermione had snuck out with her wand and a large sack.

"Stupid demons." She muttered vindictively. Luckily she had magic but that didn't make the work any less tiring. Her sack contained rock salt, iron filings, dried wolfsbane, gravedirt and anything else she thought might be useful. Wiping the dirt from her jeans she aimed another duplication spell at the sack and watched as it refilled. Definitely cheaper than buying fresh ingredients. Next, she took four stones from her pocket and set them at each corner of the perimeter. Hermione always chose a house which was secluded, near a town which had a magical community, and was easy to ward.

_And John just thought she picked any old place_.

The string of charms she used, protecting them from anything she could think of, were almost as long and as complicated as the wards protecting Hogwarts.

She slumped when she'd finished, the magic having taken a lot out of her. Stepping over the trench told her the enchantments were holding up. The iron might weaken her slightly, but it was a price she was willing to pay to keep ghosts and wiccae out. Hopefully it would be enough to keep the boys safe.

* * *

"You're an idiot, John Winchester." Hermione grumbled.

"Just sow up the damn wound."

John was covered with blood, most of it his. He'd taken a bullet to the shoulder from a particularly over zealous landowner.

"I'm trying but..."

"DAD!"

John and Hermione stared horrified at Dean, who stood frozen in the doorway.

"Dammit." John muttered.

Hermione ignored him, instead dropping the needle onto the table and walking over to Dean.

"I thought you were in bed." She asked gently.

Dean finally pulled his eyes away from his bloody father and shrugged.

"I heard voices. What wrong? Is Dad gonna be okay?"

"Your Dad'll be fine." she promised. "Why don't you head upstairs and he'll be up to put you to bed in a minute?"

Dean nodded reluctantly and left.

"He doesn't need to be put to bed, he's eight." John's temper, never the longest at the best of times, was made even shorter by the blood loss.

"He's a child." she chided, deftly sowing up his shoulder. She'd had to get used to the smell of blood in her kitchen and she hated it.

"He's not going to get that luxury." He sighed. "How have they been?"

"The boys? Fine. Training is going well, Dean doing well at school. Made some friends. They miss you though." She tied off the stitches. "You're done."

"I miss them too, but I've been busy."

"So you said."

"I'm getting closer, Hermione. I can feel it."

"You said that last year."

They stared each other down.

"Just go say goodnight to your son." She said at last, dismissing him.

* * *

"What's going on?"

Hermione froze, staring at him.

"What are you doing here?"

John blinked.

"I'm here to see my boys. It's Sam's birthday."

Hermione stepped out onto the step, pulling the door closed behind her.

"Yes, but you _never _make it for Sam's birthday."

John winced.

"Yeah, I know. I'm not exactly father of the year material."

Hermione narrowed her eyes but gave in.

"I hope you like cake." She said, instead of the vicious lecture about John's shocking lack of paternal skills which she so desperately wanted to give.

Sam was turning five, which meant cake and presents and lots of sugar and no training and running around in circles. Or at least as far as Sam was concerned.

"Dad!" John almost stumbled when Sam hit him full force in the knees.

"Hey there, kiddo. Hey, Dean."

Dean smiled nervously from the bottom of the stairs. He would have hugged his father too, had it not been for the speech John had given him about growing up and acting like a real man. Hermione hugged him instead.

"It's okay." She whispered. Dean nodded.

For once everything went without a hitch and John stayed for several days. Hermione watched, horrified as John gave Dean his first knife and showed him how to use it.

"I'm sorry, Mary." She whispered wondering, not for the first time, if the mother was watching her sons as much as Lily had watched Harry.

* * *

"'Mione!"

Hermione frowned, listening out for another shout.

"'MIONE!" Dean yelled.

She got to her feet, heading for the back garden.

"What's wrong...SAM!"

Hermione sprinted across the garden, skidding to a stop by Sam's prone form. Both boys were crying and had tea towels tied around their necks. The breeze caught Dean's and sent it fluttering across his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" She demanded, smoothing one hand across Sam's forehead.

Dean hiccuped, tears streaming down his face..

"We were playing in the tree and I jumped and he followed me and..."

"It's all right, Dean." She soothed. "Sammy, what hurts?"

"My arm." He whimpered.

"Okay darling." She scooped him up in her arms, trying to avoid jostling his arm to much. "Dean, go get my keys!"

"I'm sorry, Sam!"

"DEAN! Keys, now!"

* * *

"What the hell happened?"

Hermione flinched, almost dropping her mug. She whirled to face the hunter, swallowing back a slight twinge of fear. An angry John Winchester wasn't something she liked facing and she'd been facing it far too much recently.

"When did you get here?" She demanded, certain she'd locked all the doors.

John shrugged, dumping his duffel bag onto the table.

"Not long ago. What happened to Sammy?"

She sighed, following his gaze out the kitchen window, where Dean was colouring in Sam's cast.

"They were tree climbing and Dean thought he was Superman and jumped, and then Sam did too."

John glared at her.

"That's not what I meant. You're supposed to be taking care of them. How can he train with a broken arm?"

She ground her teeth.

"It was an accident. Sometimes children get hurt, there's nothing I can do to stop that. If anything he learned a valuable lesson."

John snorted in disgust.

"Oh yeah, and what's that?"

She smiled, eyeing him maliciously.

"Batman can't fly."

* * *

"Ghost?"

"Salt and silver?"

Hermione smiled at Dean.

"Half right. Why does the poker work on Ghosts as well as witches?"

Dean beamed at her.

"IRON!"

"Clever boy."

* * *

Hermione Granger and Sam Winchester were laid flat on their backs in the middle of the sitting room, staring at the ceiling.

"We're screwed."

"We're not screwed." Hermione corrected, turning her head to look at him. "We're just...stuck." She scowled. "Besides, it's all right for you. You could get him a flobberworm and he'd love it."

"What's a flobberworm?"

"A worm that's flobbily."

He giggled before turning back to the problem at hand.

"You're a grown up." Sam complained. "You're supposed to know these things."

"No, I'm not." She teased, reaching out to tickle him. "I'll have you know that I am perfectly immature when you want to be...Immature." She grinned. "I've had an idea. I had these friends when I was younger..."

"Ages and ages ago."

"Hey! How old do you think I am?"

Sam shrugged.

"You're my mum. That makes you older-er-er-er-er than me."

Hermione and Dean had had a shock the first time Sam had called her that. Sam, with the ineffable logic of a four year old, had turned around and told them quite clearly, that she was his mum and his mom was in heaven with the angels and could he have some more carrot sticks please. After asking Dean if it bothered him, Hermione let it slide. She quite liked the title after all.

"Thanks a bunch." She chuckled to herself. "Anyway, I had these friends and they owned a joke shop..."

"What sort of joke shop?"

"An _amazing _one. It had fireworks and things whizzing around. But don't tell them I said so because I used to yell at them when I was at school."

"You went to school!"

Hermione frowned at the boy.

"You're doing that on purpose now, aren't you?" Sam nodded. "Let me tell my story, you impossible heathen. Anyway I bet they've got something for Dean."

So Hermione wrote a letter to Messrs Weasley and Jordan and two days later received a parcel of their finest muggle-safe stock and a box of sugar quills (because they knew how much she'd missed them), on the condition that she sent them a picture of the inevitable mayhem.

Dean's tenth birthday was, to any responsible adult, an utter disaster, and to any child, the best day of their lives.

* * *

"Sam, what are you doing with that worm?"

That is _never_ a good sentence to start the day with. Hermione blinked away the sleep and stared at the boy who was sitting on the foot of her bed, holding a worm on a saucer.

Sam frowned at her, apparently somewhat confused.

"How do you make a worm flobbily?"

* * *

"Miss Granger, we're sorry to call you away from work, but the situation requires a parent or guardian." The principal glared at her as though she was personally responsible. Which she supposed she was.

Hermione nodded, frowning at the pair of worried faces watching her through the glass door.

"It's quite all right. If you could possibly explain?" Although she had a fairly good idea what this was about.

"Sam and Dean were caught fighting today."

"Did they start it?"

"The other boys say that Dean started it and Sam joined in."

Hermione winced.

"That sounds...plausible."

"We've given them detentions. Thankfully none of the boys were seriously hurt. We have to ask you to discipline the boys yourself. Exclusion isn't practical at the moment, what with the holidays just around the corner."

She nodded and rubbed at her temples.

"Yes, of course."

"Miss Granger, we understand that you are very young and this is a lot of pressure placed on you, especially considering that these aren't your children. However if this behaviour continues we may have to inform social services who will find an appropriate action to take."

Hermione's gaze went glacially cold.

"I assure you, that that won't be necessary. My boys will sort this out. We'll be going now."

Without waiting to be dismissed, Hermione left the office. Sam and Dean followed her quietly, each shooting her worried glances.

Hermione rested her head on her hands, once they were safely home and groaned, loudly.

"Boys, why did you get into a fight?" She asked quietly, not looking up at them.

Dean glared at Sam when he opened his mouth to speak and the younger boy snapped his mouth shut again with an audible click.

"Okay. Dean, go wait in your room." Hermione glanced up and glared at him when he didn't move. "Now!" She ordered.

Dean left, kicking at the floor as he did so.

Hermione knelt down in front of the six year old, frowning. Sam looked at the carpet.

"Sammy, you need to tell me what happened." She said sternly.

Sam crumpled.

"They were making fun of you and Dean got upset and hit one of them." Sam tugged at the strap of his school bag. "And then they all came after Dean and...I just wanted to help him." He added, eyes wide and on the verge of tears.

Hermione sighed and hugged him.

"Of course you did, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

"I know you are." Hermione sat back and smiled at him. "I need to go have a talk with Dean. Why don't you get yourself a snack from the cupboard and read your book for a bit? We can make biscuits later."

"No training?"

Hermione smiled at him.

"Sam, it'll be Christmas in a few weeks. We can stay up a bit later and eat lots of snacks and watch lots of TV."

Sam grinned at her, showing the gap where his baby teeth had fallen out.

"Aunt 'Mione?" He called as she left the room.

"Yeah?"

"Is Dad coming home for Christmas?"

Hermione stiffened, closing her eyes for a moment.

"I don't know. Maybe."

Hermione sighed as she climbed the stairs. The boys never knew when he was coming home. He usually made it home once every couple of months but it was never regular and never forewarned.

Dean's door was still open but he had collapsed face down on his bed.

"Dean?" She called gently.

"What!"

Hermione chuckled, sitting down on the bed beside him.

"Believe me Dean, I've dealt with more angst in my life than you, aged ten, can possibly dish up. Why did you punch that boy?"

Dean mumbled something into his pillow.

"Try again."

"He called you a whore."

Hermione froze.

It wasn't the first time she'd dealt with opinions like this. Hermione worked from home, had no significant other and was raising two boys, one of who was old enough to have been born when she was eighteen. She had no friends and didn't socialise with others _and_ she was English. In the more conservative parts of America arch looks were the least of what she got.

Most of the other mothers didn't speak to her on principle but this was the first time Dean had had to deal with it.

She sighed and rubbed his shoulder.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that."

He sat up and stared at her, brilliant green eyes watering.

"You're not mad?"

"I'm a little mad." she chided. _She was furious, but not with him._"But you lost your temper and that's okay. You were doing it to protect someone you loved, which is perhaps the best reason to lose your temper. I'm not saying what you did was right but I can understand why." She looked at her very bare left hand. "I think it's time we moved, Dean."

Dean pushed himself up fully, looking horrified.

"Is it because I started a fight?"

Hermione chuckled sadly and hugged him close.

"Of course not. We have to move around every so often anyway, you know that."

"Will Dad be able to find us?"

"I suspect so."

* * *

Before they arrived in the next town a week later, Hermione made sure to buy herself a gold wedding ring. Nothing ostentatious, but enough to dissuade any claims about her marital status. She taught the boys to say that her husband was dead.

Hermione stood out side the new house with Sam and Dean on either side of her. Sam was holding her hand, Dean had just decided that ten was too old for hand holding and refused. He still stood pretty close by though. The house was large, but just about affordable for Hermione. On the outskirts of town they were far enough away from anyone that any strange noises wouldn't cause a problem. It would need a bit of work but there were four bedrooms and a large garden. A room they could turn into a library and a basement that could easily be converted into a panic room.

The boys loved it, which was the important thing.

"I think..." She said, watching the removal men unload the van, "that this might be it boys."

Sam cheered.

* * *

"Where the hell are you?"

Hermione gave a long suffering sigh as she cradled the phone between her shoulder, stirring a large pot of soup. They'd finally settled into the new house and had unpacked in time for the boys to start school when the term restarted.

"We've moved. If you hadn't changed your number you'd have known."

John swore.

"Are the boys okay?"

Hermione crossed to the window, watching Sam and Dean sparring on the wet grass. She'd enrolled them in self defence and martial arts classes. They loved it.

"They're fine. Dean got onto the sports team at school..." She waited, hoping that this would get some kind of response from him.

"How's their training going?"

Hermione scowled bitterly. This was the part of their agreement that she struggled the most with. John was convinced that the boys should grow up to be hunters. So convinced in fact that the only way they could stay with Hermione was if she trained them, both in theory and combat. The boys would go to school and get qualifications and when John did eventually take them on a hunt, they'd be ready.

"It's going fine." She murmured, eyes fixed on Sam, who'd given up on sparring and was instead just running away from his brother. "Are you going to make it for the 24th?" She asked, one eye on the calender.

"What happens then?" John asked.

Hermione hung up out of disgust.

* * *

"Strange smell of sulphur, victim suffered blackouts..."

"Possession?"

Hermione grinned and tossed Dean another chocolate.

"He's catching you up, Sammy. Okay, next one...Exorcizamus te, Omnis Immundus Spiritus..."

"Omnis Satanica Potestas, Omnis Incursio Infernalis Adversarii, Omnis Congregatio et Secta Diabolica, Ergo Draco Maledicte, Ut Ecclesiam Tuam Secura, Tibi Facias Libertate Servire, Te Rogamus, Audi Nos!" The boys recited together and Hermione cheered.

"That'll do for tonight boys." She handed them a handful of sweets. Teaching hunting wasn't something that was easy, but Hermione had taught Ronald Weasley Transfiguration for almost six years _and_ that took a miracle. You just needed the right motivation to get the information to stick. With Ron it had been fear. For Sam and Dean, it was chocolate.

* * *

"'Mione!" Sam pleaded.

"What?"

"Can I have a story?"

Hermione chuckled, tucking the duvet around the squirming boy.

"What do you think, Dean?" She asked, the elder boy peering around the doorway, still dressed in his jeans and t-shirt. His bedtime wasn't for another two hours. He nodded though and sat next to Sam against the headboard.

"Well what story do you want?"

"Hogwarts!" Sam demanded, puppy dog eyes out in full force.

"Hmmm. Okay."

Telling the boys out right about what she was, would be impossible. So she told them about the magical society and about witches and wizards who didn't get their powers from hell and wrapped it up as a fairytale instead of the truth.

She reasoned that it was about giving them both sides of the story.

A smaller part of herself quietly believed that if she told them now, there was a chance they wouldn't try to kill her when they were older.

"Once upon a time there was a girl. She was a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, were she was taught to use her magic for good. When she was a little older than you are Dean, she was in her first year. She boarded a big red stream train, like the ones you see in films, which took her all the way to Hogwarts. Now this girl was very shy and didn't make friends easily. But on that train ride she met two boys who would become very special to her. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. They didn't become friends immediately though. When they arrived at the school all of the new students were sorted into houses. Gryffindor for the brave, Ravenclaw for the wise, Hufflepuff for the loyal and Slytherin for the cunning. The girl and Harry and Ron were sorted into Gryffindor..."

She stopped talking when she got to the troll in the girls bathroom. Sam had fallen asleep and even Dean was starting to look drowsy.

"C'mon, soldier." She muttered, lifting the boy. She almost sagged under his weight. "Have you grown again Dean?" She asked rhetorically, dropping him onto his own bed.

Hermione left him to get changed and headed downstairs. She had three pages of rune work to be done and she'd have to be up early the next day. Sam had started swimming lessons and they were at an obscenely early hour of the morning. It was okay though. She and Dean sat in the little café for an hour talking and eating bacon sandwiches. She smiled at the picture of Mary that was always kept on their mantelpiece.

"Your boys are doing fine." She whispered, wiping away tears.

* * *

"Hey, 'Mione."

Hermione closed one eye and stared at the boy, causing him to giggle.

"I'm not in right now. Leave a message."

Sam stamped his foot, scowling.

"'Miiiiione. I know you're there."

"No, you don't."

Sam glared at her.

"I can see you."

"Since when does that mean I'm there?" She pointed out, setting the bowl she'd been washing on the draining board.

Sam prodded her arm.

"See! You're real."

Hermione chuckled.

"Oh, all right. What's wrong?"

"What does mudblood mean?"

Porcelain flew everywhere as Hermione dropped the mug she'd been washing. Sam shrieked and jumped backwards.

"What?" She gasped, shaking.

Sam skirted around the broken china to tug on her arm.

"Mudblood. You've got it written on your arm."

Hermione yanked her arm away from him, pulling her sleeve down to cover the scar.

"Nothing. Leave it, Sam."

"But...?"

"Sam..." She warned. "Go outside or something."

"But...!"

"GO!"

Sam gave her an utterly betrayed look and sped off, crying.

Hermione sunk to the floor cradling her arm to her chest. She wore long sleeves usually, but she'd rolled them up to do the washing up. She sobbed quietly, feeling the old scar twinge. It had never healed, would never heal.

It was just something she had to live with.

* * *

There weren't many benevolent magical creatures in America. To be honest at the rate John was going their wouldn't be many malevolent ones either but that was beside the point.

So Hermione was surprised when she opened the back door of the house one morning and a large black shadow streaked past her into the kitchen. She spun to face it, one hand reaching for the wand she still kept on her at all times. The large black cat blinked at her from atop the table, looking for all the world as though he'd lived there his entire life.

Hermione sighed and looked into the bright green eyes sceptically.

"Cat food?" She asked.

Hermione received a look only those of a feline persuasion could manage, which told her he couldn't believe she'd be so stupid as to even ask. She rolled her eyes in response and set the large frying pan down on the stove.

"I hope you like bacon." She murmured instead.

"Hermione! Have you seen my..." Sam slid several feet across the floor in his socks, before catching himself on a chair. "Whoah... is that a cat?"

Hermione chuckled, tipping bacon onto a plate.

"Not exactly."

"What's his name?" He asked, holding out his hand to be sniffed like she'd taught him.

Hermione smiled at the emerald green eyes and black fur which reminded her heavily of an old friend.

"Harry."

Sam's eyes widened.

"Like the boy in the story?"

"Exactly like that. Your trainers are under the kitchen table. Grab Dean and we'll have breakfast."

"Dean's allergic to cats." Sam pointed out, retrieving his shoes. "He sneezes."

Hermione laughed quietly.

"He won't be allergic to this one." She promised.

* * *

"ARGH!" Dean threw himself backwards, much to his brother's amusement.

"I told you there was a cat." Sam smirked, slipping into his seat at the table. Sam was becoming the sort of sarcastic that only those approaching seven can manage.

"Bitch." Dean grumbled.

"Dean Winchester! Language!" Hermione scolded.

"Sorry, Aunt 'Mione."

Sam snickered into his cereal, earning himself under a kick under the table.

"I saw that." Hermione warned as she sat in the last chair and Harry jumped into her lap, watching the boys. "This is Harry. He's not a cat, he's a Kneazle. You shouldn't be allergic to him."

"Like the one in the story?" Sam asked excitedly.

Hermione smiled sadly.

"Almost. Crookshanks was a half Kneezle. Still very intelligent. However, Harry here is a wild Kneazle. I didn't know there were any in America." Harry sneezed. "Kneazles choose their companions."

"So you own him?" Dean asked, still eyeing the feline suspiciously.

"You cannot own another magical creature, Dean. That's slavery. He's here because he wants to be."

Dean shrugged.

"Cool."

* * *

Kneazles are, amongst their many talents, impeccable judges of character. There were several times when Hermione wouldn't let someone into the house simply because Harry didn't like him. He could also smell a demon a mile off. Dean could remember multiple times in his childhood when the house was on lock down because the cat was acting funny.

John hated Harry.

The feeling was mutual.

Harry had a particular habit of stealing John's duffle bag and hiding it in strange places. Like the garden flower bed. Or under the porch. Or in the field next door. Or halfway up a tree.

Sam always thought it was hilarious.

* * *

_**Told you I'd update soon. **_

_**Thank you to all my reviewers.**_

**_I'm unbeta'd for this so if you could point out any glaring mistakes...you know the drill. _**

**_Special thanks to: LeonaMasha (for offering to help me chase people), PunkyRedHead and chris7100. _**

**_I've got a funeral tomorrow, sigh._**

**_Hood_**


	3. Collect Call for Singer

"Is this uh..." Bobby squinted down at the scrap of paper. "Hermione Granger?"

"Yes, it is. Whose calling?" The polite voice, tinged with an English accent, asked.

"Bobby Singer. I'm a friend of your husband's."

"I don't have a husband."

"Boyfriend?"

"Try again." The voice was harder now and Bobby sighed.

"I'm friends with John Winchester."

"Oh." There was a remarkable amount of disgust in the word.

"He gave me your phone number, in case something happened to him."

"Has something happened to him?" She asked, coolly.

"Sorta. He's in hospital. Went after a pack of wendigos on his own."

"Moron."

"Yeah, well. I've got a message..."

"'Mione!" A loud yell came down the phone line and Bobby jerked it away from his ear, grimacing.

"Sam, go upstairs. Sorry, you were saying?"

"You got kids there?" He asked in amazement.

"Yes."

"Huh. I figured you were a hunter."

"Might as well be." Came the grumbled response. "Message?"

"He wants Dean ready for the next time he's in town."

There was a pause, then:

"Oh, that complete and utter bastard. How can he bloody well dare to do this? I'll fucking kill him..."

He suspected the cursing would have gone on for some time had it not been for:

"DEEEEAN. Mum said a bad word!"

"Oh, for pities sake. Sam, leave your brother alone, he's working. And don't repeat that word, 'Mione's just upset now."

There was a long aggravated sigh and the sound of someone stomping away in a huff.

"Dean's a person?" Bobby demanded.

Hermione snorted.

"Worse. Dean Winchester is thirteen years old."

Bobby almost dropped the phone.

"Is that idgit insane?"

"I hope so." She whispered. "I don't know how he can do this to them. I really don't."

* * *

Bobby remembered the first time he'd met Hermione Granger. He'd driven to the house, which was on the outskirts of town, a large building which gave the impression of being heavily fortified, a thought that appealed to him.

She'd greeted him with the brand of stiff politeness that told him she was holding a loaded shotgun behind the door. Granger was a petite woman, with wild brown hair which almost crackled with energy and bright brown eyes. She wore a long sleeved shirt, tight enough to show off her figure and jeans. In short she looked like any other twenty year old.

"I'm Bobby Singer." He whipped his ball cap off his head and twisted it between his fingers nervously. "We spoke on the phone."

"Christo." She said clearly. When he didn't react she stood aside, relaxing slightly. "Come in."

Bobby stepped over the thresh hold and into the hall. He stared at the devils trap peaking out from under the welcome mat.

"You expecting trouble?"

She shrugged, mildly indifferent.

"Pays to be cautious. Even with the wards, you never know what's coming next. Coffee?"

"That'd be nice, ma'am." He caught sight of a photograph on the wall. There were two boys and Hermione, all three grinning at the camera. "These your boys?"

Hermione nodded, smiling.

"Yes. Big one's Dean, little one's Sammy."

"They're cute."

Bobby followed her into the kitchen. The shelves were littered with the paraphernalia that came with housing children and the fridge was covered in report cards and crayon drawings.

It could have been the kitchen of any young family, from anywhere in America, except for the shelf dedicated to strange herbs, the large bag of salt and the warding sigils done in finger paint.

They sat down at a heavily scrubbed wooden table, steaming mugs in front of them.

"Where are your boys just now?"

"They're at school." She checked her watch. "Won't be home for some time." Hermione frowned at him. "Tell me about yourself, Mr Singer?"

Bobby shrugged.

"Not much to tell, ma'am. I'm a hunter, based in Sioux Falls. Ran into John a couple of years ago. And call me Bobby. Mr Singer makes me sound old."

"Only if you call me Hermione. I'm not old enough to be a ma'am."

"How old are you?" Bobby asked cautiously.

"Thirty four." She smiled at his expression. "I'm English. I age well."

"You're tellin' me." He sighed. "How'd ya end up with these boys anyway? John never told me he had kids."

Now that Bobby's looking for it, he could just about make out the minute wrinkles at the corner of her brown eyes. She noticed him staring an arched an eyebrow. He blushed and tried to pay attention to what she was saying instead.

"I'm their godmother. When Mary, John's wife, died, I took the boys in. John went off to be a hunter and I raised...am raising them. Trained them too."

"In what? Huntin? Don't you have to have some kind of...I dunno. Practical experience?"

She gave a grim smile.

"You'd think. I can't teach them to fight, but they've done a lot of martial arts classes and Dean just started boxing at school. I've given them a good grounding in Latin, a basic understanding of Greek and both of them speak passable French and Spanish. Things like lock picking, hot wiring cars, cooking, first aid and exorcisms, I learned and then passed on. Their working knowledge of magical creatures is certainly greater than John's. Not that he has any idea. of course."

Bobby stared at her in amazement.

"You've taught them all that?"

She shrugged nonchalant.

"That's the conditions. They can stay with me if I train them to be hunters. I can't guarantee they've remembered all of it...Dean's much better with the practical side of things, where as Sam speaks Latin as well as most theologians, especially considering he's only just nine. He's a bit behind Dean. I refused to start training him until he turned six."

"Huntin' is no life for a kid."

"You think I don't know that?" She snapped, brown eyes flashing dangerously. "Of course it isn't. But John's painted himself as a hero and Dean all but worships him. He can't wait to go out on a hunt for the first time. Was thrilled when I told him."

"An' Sam?"

"Can't imagine that he cares either way."

"Balls." Bobby muttered softly. "John's gotta know this ain't right."

Hermione laughed bitterly.

"You know, you'd think he would but...He's on a revenge trip. Until he gets that monster that got Mary, he won't stop. He's a crap father." She added, glaring at him as though she dared him to disagree.

"I ain't gonna argue with you." Bobby sipped at his drink frowning. "Can they shoot?"

"What?" She demanded, slightly startled.

"The boys. John ever teach em to shoot?"

Hermione took a long fortifying gulp of tea.

"No."

"Right...Can you shoot?"

She gave a half smile.

"I do all right. Its not what I'd call my first line of defence." She got up and retrieved her handgun, setting it on the table gingerly. "This stays with me most of the time and John gave me a shotgun that I keep in the umbrella stand loaded with salt rounds. The boys know not to touch it."

That made Bobby laugh.

"You got somewhere you can prove that to me?"

"I live in the middle of nowhere. Of course I do."

* * *

"Not bad." Bobby eyed the row of smashed jam jars speculatively. "You practise?"

Hermione clicked the safety on and gave him an incredulous look.

"Of course I do. What kind of moronic idiot do I look like? I wasn't going to keep a live firearm in the house and not know how to use it." She checked her watch, frowning. "The boys will be home soon. I assume you're going to teach them too?"

"If that's all right with you..."

Hermione laughed as they headed back to the house.

"I'd rather you taught them, than I did. But..." She smiled at him. "I appreciate you asking permission. Means a lot."

"They're your kids ma'am. Wouldn't be right not to. I gotta ask though..." Bobby frowned as he held the door open for her. "How come you didn't just take the boys and make a run for it? Lady like you...can't really see you _wantin'_ to be here."

"And what do you mean by that?" She asked bemused. Carefully she placed the firearm back in it's hiding place, well out of Sam's reach.

"Well...you're a bit...sophisticated aren't you? Girl like you, you've gotta have family back home, money. Why keep the boys here?"

She leaned against the counter, head cocked to one side.

"I'm an orphan. Lost my parents in a war, so no blood related family to speak of. But yes I do have money. If I wanted to I could have taken Sam and Dean and vanished off the face of the earth. John would never have seen them again." She ground her teeth, looking sour. "Believe me I still want to sometimes. But it wouldn't have been fair to John or the boys. This is their home. Anyway, who says it'd be any safer back in England? Mary probably picked the worst person to look after them on that front."

"How so?"

She gave a dark laugh.

"If I'd taken the boys back home, they'd have been under constant pressure and public scrutiny. A lot of people don't like me and they wouldn't hesitate to take that out on my kids."

"What could you have possibly done to..."

Bobby's question was interrupted by hammering at the front door and Hermione straightened up, smiling.

"That'd be the dogs of war." She headed for the door, leaving Bobby deep in thought.

"Guess what!" He heard faintly.

"What?"

"Sam's a girl!" a gleeful voice told her.

"DEAN!"

* * *

"Boy's a natural."

Hermione gave the makeshift shooting range a grim look.

"I suspected he might be."

She smiled at the hunter standing awkwardly in the back door.

"It's a long drive back to South Dakota, isn't it?"

He shrugged noncommittally.

"A fair few hours."

"Right. You want some dinner?"

"If it's not too much trouble, ma'am."

She rolled her eyes.

"You can give me a hand. You know how to use a knife, right?"

Bobby realised he was being teased and stepped into the kitchen to wash his hands, grinning.

"Hermione?" He asked gently. "Why were you so surprised when I called?"

She caught on to what he meant immediately and paused.

"I suppose I always hoped he'd get what killed Mary before this point. I certainly wasn't expecting it so soon, Dean's only thirteen for heaven's sake. His biggest problem at the moment should be having a crush on someone, not...werewolves."

"So why don't you run with them now?"

"I want to." She whispered. She stared up at him, the picture of misery. "Merlin, I want to. But Dean's been looking forward to this his entire life and Sam hates moving and..." She sighed and went back to the pot she was stirring. "The best I can do is offer them alternatives."

* * *

"I may never forgive you for this." Hermione hissed at John, shepherding a silent Dean into the house. She slammed the door on his father and led him straight to the kitchen.

"Injuries?"

Dean shrugged.

"My wrist hurts a bit."

"Let me see."

Hermione began to bend his wrist gently, pursing her lips when he winced.

"Hurts a bit, indeed. This is a severe sprain. I'm going to bandage it. How did it go?" She asked carefully.

Dean grinned.

"It was a demon. I drew the Devil's Trap like you showed me." She smiled faintly, spreading a salve on his skin. "Dad made me exorcise it." Dean watched her wrap the bandage around his wrist. "He says he's going to take me with him next time he's in the state."

"Oh, did he?" She muttered grimly, taping the end in place.

"Please, Hermione?" Dean glared up at her. "What's the point in all that training if I never get to use it?"

She sighed.

"It's not up to me, is it?" She didn't meet his eyes. "It's your father's choice." Dean got the feeling he'd done something wrong, but couldn't work out what. "Sam's asleep." She added, turning away from him. "Don't wake him up."

* * *

Hermione and Bobby grew into an easy friendship. His library of the supernatural was only just beaten by hers and they often spent late evenings on the phone discussing the merits of certain rituals over others. He came round to visit when ever he was nearby, although nearby seemed to include anything up to three states away. Not that Bobby would admit that, of course. The boys got used to having him in their lives and somehow he found himself a part of their bizarre family. Which was nice. It was beyond nice in fact. Hunters didn't tend to have friends and they _definitely _didn't have families.

Neither of them told John about their acquaintance.

* * *

"Hey...uh ma'am?"

There was an amused chuckle.

"What did you do, Singer?"

Bobby rolled his eyes.

"You think I have to be dying to call you up?"

"To call me ma'am, yes." She paused. "Are you dying?"

"Yeah, about that..."

"Where are you?" She demanded, sounding considerably more worried.

"Town not far from you. Called Milton."

"I know it."

"I'm at the motel. Got..." He coughed. "Stabbed in the leg." Amongst a myriad of other injuries. "Didn't move fast enough."

"Bloody hell. Hold on. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Bobby was left listening to the dial tone as he slumped against the wall. He'd managed to slow the bleeding but really it wasn't going to stop much if he didn't get some help soon. There was a loud crack from outside, someone crashed into the door, throwing it open and Bobby lost consciousness.

* * *

"Hey."

He knew this room. Why or where wasn't coming back to him at the moment, but he could remember that it was safe. The other thing he could remember was that he really should been in a lot more pain than he was now. A pair of hazel eyes watched him from the foot of the bed.

"Sam?"

The boy beamed, straightening up to his full height. Which wasn't very tall, but as John frequently muttered to himself, the kid would grow.

"Hi, Uncle Bobby. 'Mione said to tell her when you woke up. She's fixing Dean up at the moment."

So that's where he was.

"What happened to your brother?"

Sam shrugged, chewing on his thumb.

"He got in a fight. Mum's _really_ mad at him."

Bobby chuckled and pushed himself upright.

"You okay?" Sam asked cautiously.

"Yeah, I'll be all right. Listen kid...why'd you call her mom?"

"Cos she is." He frowned. "Well, I know she's not. It's like...she's my mum and my real mom is dead."

"Right." Bobby rolled his eyes. "Just don't let your dad catch you saying that."

"Sam!"

The boy jumped guiltily and stared at Hermione.

"Yeah?"

"I thought I told you to tell me when he woke up?" Sam pouted and Hermione visibly softened. "Oh, honestly. Go and tease your brother. He deserves it."

Sam grinned evilly and sprinted off.

"That kids gonna be trouble."

Hermione laughed.

"I know. So you want to tell me how you got stabbed?"

"I was an idgit and..."

"Don't even think about getting up." She commanded.

Bobby, who had been edging his feet closer to the edge of the bed, froze.

"Now you listen to me, girl..."

Hermione scowled in irritation.

"Don't you girl me, Singer. You're what...seven years older than me?" Bobby flushed. "Secondly, you've got a stab wound in that thigh. Missed the artery you'll be pleased to know, but I don't want you wandering around for a good day yet. Along with several bruised ribs, which you didn't think to mention. Here." She tossed him a vial of something red, which he just caught. "I've got a few medical supplies left from home. This should help."

Scowling he downed the liquid and the coughed at a taste so peppery that he could have sworn steam came out of his ears.

"What the hell was that?" He spluttered.

"Love from the NHS." She grinned. "It'll keep away infections _without_ the pesky health insurance questions."

He glowered at her.

"You really hate America, don't cha?"

She smirked, settling herself down on the foot of his bed.

"Some days more than others, yes."

He pushed himself up so he was facing the younger woman, propped against the pillows.

"How come you moved out here, you never did tell me?"

She gave a faint smile.

"I didn't have much choice. I had a certain reputation back home which made me rather...notorious. I wanted to go somewhere I wouldn't be recognised every time I ordered a coffee. Lawrence seemed like a good fit at the time. I never finished my degree of course, but..."

Bobby frowned at her.

"What did you do to get a reputation? You're...well, you."

Hermione gave a quiet laugh, pushing her long curls away from her face.

"The same thing most people do in their late teens. Broke into a few banks, tore down a few governments, went on the run for a year." She smirked. "Nothing special, you understand."

"Yeah. Right."

She slapped his leg where it lay under the duvet.

"Enough of the questions, Singer. You need to rest and I need to go rescue Dean. He's probably tried to punch Sam twice by now."

* * *

Bobby knew that this was probably a very _very_ bad idea. Hermione would be furious if she found out about this and she could be truly terrifying when riled. But hunters were suspicious bastards by their very nature and there was something about her history which didn't add up and a lot of things about her actions which added up to something worse.

Bobby wasn't an old man by any means, entering his early forties, but his healing rate definitely wasn't what it used to be. And there was no way a stab wound heals without a scar only a week after it happened.

So he'd done a little digging.

And at first it was incredibly normal, and in honesty, a bit dull. Hermione Granger, daughter of a pair of dentists, lived on the outskirts of London. She went to school at a local primary school, won several awards for academic brilliance.

None of this surprised Bobby. Her intelligence had always intimidated him slightly. No woman should be that smart and that pretty. Just wasn't fair on a man.

After she turned eleven things became slightly more interesting. And worrying. According to the guy he'd called, there was no further record of Hermione Granger in Britain. No driving license, no bank accounts, no missing persons reports. Even her parents vanished off the map eventually, although they _did_ turn up in the end. They shared a plot in a graveyard near her childhood home. As far as this guy could find, the only other record was of one H. Granger, who received a OBE in conjunction with one H. Potter and a R. Weasley. But Hermione would have been eighteen at that point.

Bobby ruled it out as a lead.

When it became obvious he wasn't going to find anything else across the pond he'd started searching Kansas. The University had never heard of her, the guy he knew in the government told him no one under that name had applied for a visa to _anywhere_ in America. The only real mention of her, was when she bought her house in Lawrence.

At best she was an illegal immigrant. At worst...

He eyed the manilla folder which was sitting on his passenger seat warily.

"Are you going to sit in there and sulk all night?"

Bobby jumped a foot in the air, spinning to face his side window.

Hermione laughed at him. She'd bound her hair back in a plait, leaving her pink cheeked in the cold.

"Hello. You've been parked out here for twenty minutes. If I didn't know better I'd say you were watching the house. Come on in, Bobby."

The hunter stared at her, almost horrified and she frowned in concern.

"Are you all right, Bobby? You're looking at me like I killed someone."

"Yeah, yeah." Carefully he followed her into the house, tucking the folder under his arm, checking the gun tucked in the back of his jeans. "I'm all right."

She smiled fondly, closing the front door behind him.

"The boys are in bed. You want a coffee?"

"Got any alcohol?"

She fixed him with a dark look.

"I have children in this house. No."

He made a face at her back.

"I saw that." She warned.

"Damned woman's physic as well." He muttered. He dropped the file onto the table in front of him.

"What's that then?"

"Nothin'." He said too quickly. She paused and looked at him, searching his eyes.

"Are you sure you're all right, Bobby?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Hey, what was it you did at college? Got a kid in town whose thinking about courses. I figured I'd ask you seeing as you're the only person I know whose actually been."

She reached up to grab two mugs.

"Anthropology. Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Bobby felt the lie like a kick in his gut.

"So that's where you learned all about the monsters, wasn't it? Cos John told me, you were the one who put him onto this stuff. You even knew a physic to send him to."

He only noticed when she froze, because he'd been looking for it.

"Mythological creatures were something of a speciality of mine." She murmured. "Ask anyone."

"Right." He whispered. "And this was at Kansas U?"

She nodded, fiddling around with her kettle, the curtain of her hair hiding her face.

"Nice place really. This kid looking at Kansas?"

"Don't really matter." Bobby leaned back in his chair and stared at her. "See the thing is, I asked around. Ain't nobody heard of you there. In fact there ain't no real record of you since you turned eleven. You vanished of the earth and then suddenly you turn up and get yourself two boys to look after."

Her shoulders slumped but she didn't turn to face him, instead resting her hands on the counter.

"Bobby, I have no idea..."

"Oh, don't lie to me!" He barked, leaping to his feet. "Don't you dare."

She turned and he almost felt guilty for the tear tracks on her face.

"Keep your voice down." She ordered, voice strong and dark.

"Not likely." He growled. "So you tell me who you are and maybe I _won't_ pass all this on to John."

"You know who I am." She hissed. She'd pulled a stick from somewhere and it was clenched in her right hand. "You're being silly, Bobby."

"That's it. I'm taking the boys..." He marched for the door only to find in slammed shut in front of him. Dimly he registered the sounds of the doors and windows locking. "I'm beggin' you 'Mione." he pleaded, closing eyes as he leaned his head against the wood. "Tell me you didn't do that."

"Bobby..." She didn't finish her plea. What was there that she could say?

"You told me Mary picked the worst possible person to look after them." His voice wavered for a second. "You said that."

"I did. I meant it too." She told him hollowly.

He turned and faced her. She was standing with her hands by her side, that stick still clutched in one hand. She was shaking, the tears dripping from her chin and for once she looked her age.

"What are you?" He whispered. "Because I don't know. You don't make sense. How the hell did you get to me at Milton? 'Cause I was bleeding out, Hermione. I know an artery hit when I see one and it was at least a half hours drive from here. I didn't have that long and yet you fixed me up. It ain't right, Hermione! So what are you? A witch? A god? A faerie?"

"I'm not going to hurt you." She told him gently. "Please you need to hear me out." It was then he realised he'd drawn his gun and had it cocked and aimed at her head.

"Give me one good reason." He begged, well aware that he too was on the verge of tears. "Come on, 'Mione. One good reason." Because really that was all he needed.

"I love those boys as much as you do." She said simply.

"Dammit."

Slowly Bobby lowered his gun and made his way back to his chair, Hermione watching him carefully. She produced a bottle from nowhere and two shot glasses, setting them on the table.

"Thought you had no alcohol?"

"Nowhere Dean will find it." She assured him. She poured two even measures but rested a hand across the top of his glass before he could drink. "Word from the wise. This is fire whiskey. Bit stronger than you're used to." She downed her glass in one go and cautiously, Bobby did the same.

He swore he coughed up sparks.

"I warned you."

"Talk."

Hermione sighed.

"I really am Hermione Granger. I'm from England and I was born magical."

"What?"

She rubbed at her eyes.

"You know those stories you've heard me telling Sam?"

"Yeah." Vaguely at least. He could dredge up some memories of some magical world and a guy named Trotter...

"Potter." She jumped and stared at him. "He got a OBE along with some..."

"Girl named Granger." She finished sadly. "I know. I was there. It wasn't as exciting as you'd expect. Anyway those stories...they're true. I was born with magic, I didn't bargain for it or make a deal and when I was eleven I went to a school to learn to control it. Bobby, you know I'm telling the truth. You're too good of a hunter not to. For goodness sakes, I saved your life! Magic was the only reason I got to you in time."

He clenched his jaw and didn't answer. She winced and her shoulders slumped.

"I couldn't stay in England because I was too well know. I wasn't joking when I told you I overthrew a government. Over there I'm something of a war hero, people used to stop and stare at me when I walked down the street and...I couldn't take it any more. We...the magicals...we have our own government. I got a visa from a friend of mine and moved over here. That's why there's no record of me. I went to the local magical university to study law."

"So not anthropology?"

She gave a faint smile.

"No. It seemed like a good cover for when Mary asked about my books. All this...all the things hunters research? I learned about them at school. I actually had a teacher who was a werewolf." She swallowed and Bobby noticed her hands were shaking. "But I gave up a lot of the magical side of things when I got the boys. I couldn't risk it. Bobby, I promise you I'm not a witch. Or at least not in the way you're probably thinking."

"How'd you meet Mary?" He demanded, unwilling to get sidetracked.

"I was shopping." She seemed to get caught up in the memory. "And I was horribly confused and lost and about one strange American foodstuff away from a mental breakdown and this blonde woman with a baby came over, grabbed my by the elbow and towed me to the nearest café. At first I was terrified that this complete stranger had all but kidnapped me, but she sat me down, handed me a coffee and started talking to me. At the time I didn't have any friends to go to and I was pretty much on my own. Mary became my best friend. I was..." Hermione shuddered. "Probably not in the best frame of mind, at the time. I'd lost a lot of people in the war, including my parents." She paused for a moment but didn't look at him. "You know how soldiers go through an adjustment period when they come home from combat?"

He nodded.

"Mary was like that for me. She put me back on my feet, trusted me enough that she didn't need to know the details of what I'd been through. And then when Sam was born, she made me the boys godmother and I swear I was never as proud as I was then. I love these boys with everything that I am, Bobby."

"Yeah, I know."

She blinked.

"What?"

Bobby scrubbed a hand down his face, suddenly exhausted.

"I've got eyes, 'Mione. I know how much you care about them. It's just...you're not normal!" He sighed and Hermione seemed to lose her temper.

"Listen, you want to know my history? Fine." A wave of her stick and the doors unlocked. Another and a book was flying into her open hand. She dropped it down in front of him. "My biography. I assure you it's quite reliable." Her eyes turned cold and she grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him with a surprising amount of strength to the front door. "Please leave."

The door slammed shut behind him and Bobby stood on the porch listening to the sounds of every exterior lock in the house closing.

* * *

He came back a week later, partly because he'd finished the book and he wanted to talk to her, and partly because the boys had called him and demanded to know what the hell he'd done to their Aunt 'Mione.

She was waiting for him on the porch, jumper clad arms folded. She looked like a woman preparing for battle, eyes dark and flinty.

"I ain't here to fight." He stated as he got out of his truck.

"Oh really?"

He sighed and made a show of leaving his gun on the drivers seat.

"There see? No weapons." Bobby frowned. "How'd you know I was coming?"

"I've got wards. They let me know whose coming within five hundred meters of this place."

"That sounds useful."

"Very."

They stared each other down until Bobby blushed and looked away.

"I read your book. You've had quite a life."

"Mmm."

Bobby threw his hands up.

"Dammit woman, I'm trying to apologise here."

She chuckled, leaning back against the wall of the house, looking for all the world as though she was completely unconcerned. Bobby could read her better than most, though. He could see the wand hidden in one sleeve and the tense readiness which didn't leave her body.

"Go on then."

"What?"

"Apologise."

Bobby was almost certain she was smirking, but her glare was enough to keep him looking at his boots.

"I'm sorry for over reacting."

"That's not why I'm annoyed."

He thought for a moment before realisation swept over him and he let out a soft curse.

"I'm sorry I threatened to take your boys away." He should have known not to. If she was half as good as her book said, he wouldn't have gotten far. But still, the woman lived with the constant threat of losing her boys to hunting. He'd been out of line.

"Are you now?"

Bobby stomped up the steps so he was standing in front of her, looking down at her.

"You're damn stubborn, you know that?"

A small victorious smile curved her lips.

"I've been told. Come on in, Singer."

Cautiously he followed her into the house.

"Are you going to kill me?"

Hermione gave him a dark look.

"Are you going to kill me?" She retaliated.

"Would I have a chance?" He asked, aiming for flattery.

She seemed to think about it for a moment, before she grinned.

"Nah, probably not. Coffee?"

* * *

Surprisingly Bobby adjusted to the news rather well. Or as well as a man whose trained to kill witches can. Hermione took to bribing him with her library. What could she say? It worked.

* * *

"Here."

The hunter eyed the potion suspiciously.

"What's this one do?" He asked, used to her handing him strange magical items.

"Detox." She didn't smile, watching him sombrely. "Your drinking is going to kill you, you know that?"

"Something's gonna." He told her bitterly.

She continued as though he hadn't spoken.

"I know it doesn't show much now, but give it ten years and you're going to look at least seventy. Not fifty. Your reflexes will get slower...you know the drill, Bobby."

"Can I keep drinkin' afterwards?"

She sighed heavily.

"In moderation." She said at last. "I'm no healer. It'll put years on your life that will." She added, pointing to it.

"You tryin' to make me live as long as possible?"

"Of course I am. Besides, Sam and Dean need an example in life and I'd _really_ rather it wasn't their father. I'd also rather you were _alive_ to be that example."

He frowned, turning the vial around in his hand.

"It mean that much to ya?"

"Yes."

"Balls."

He unstoppered the vial.

"WAIT!"

"What?" He asked warily.

She blushed slightly.

"You...um, might want to be near a toilet before you take that."

The five minuets of him being sick wasn't a fun experience. Neither was calling Rufus to tell him he can have his entire whiskey collection. He knows he's almost certainly going to regret this later, but the proud look on her face makes it better for today.

* * *

"Is this Hermione Granger?"

Hermione frowned, mentally recounting the number of people who had her phone number.

"Who's asking?"

"My names Detective Carter, I work for the police department in Lawrence. I've just got a couple of questions regarding the death of one Mary Winchester."

"Right." Hermione said breathlessly. "Well, go ahead."

"Where you aware of any enemies that Mrs Winchester may have had?"

Hermione sat down, amazed.

"What! No. Everyone loved Mary. Ask any of her friends."

The voice darkened in irritation.

"That's just the thing, ma'am. There has been a string of suspicious deaths in the area and the only thing connecting the victims was that they were friends of the deceased. In fact, as far as I can tell, you're the only one left who had any close relationship to Mrs Winchester."

"What?" Hermione gasped. "But that's not possible."

"I'm very sorry, ma'am. I have just one more question. I have it down on file that you are the guardian of Mrs Winchester children. I don't suppose you know where I can find her husband, do you?"

Guiltily, Hermione glanced out the back window to where John was sparring with Dean.

"No." she lied. "I haven't seen him in months. He went looking for work and hasn't come back since."

"Right." The man evidently didn't believe her. "That'll be all then. Thanks for your time."

He put down the phone and she listened to the dial tone for several minutes before she got up to fetch her old address book.

Hermione had been out of touch with all of her and Mary's friends from Lawrence since they'd left, almost ten years ago. Still she dutifully plugged in the numbers, crossed her fingers and _hoped._

...

"This number has been disconnected."  
…

"...died several months ago..."  
…

"...No one here by that name..."

* * *

"Bobby, I need a favour."

"Can it wait?" Bobby demanded sleepily. He could just imagine her rolling her eyes.

"No, Singer, it can not." She paused and an iota of concern seeped into her voice. "Did I wake you?"

"Yes." He grumbled.

"Oh, sorry. Listen, I need a favour."

"You said." He eyed his pillow speculatively and decided the chances of her letting him go back to sleep was incredibly low.

"I need a hacker. A good one."

"What for?" He yawned.

"Oh, do wake up." She snapped. "I want to change the boys names and I don't want to leave a paper trail. I need them to stop existing."

_That_ got his attention.

"You wanna tell me what this is about, girl?"

* * *

It took several hundred dollars, hours of time and a lot of worrying, but eventually Hermione got what she wanted. Whoever it was Bobby had found, he was good. Instead of just changing the boys names, they created entirely false lives for them. Sam and Dean Winchester continued on, travelling across America, enrolling in a new school every few years. Sam and Dean Granger, the biological children of Hermione's older brother, lived with their aunt. The boys had transferred schools, moving across town, where they could be enrolled under their new surnames. They weren't happy about it, but Dean understood and Sam just sided with his brother. She'd told them everything and, along with agreeing not to tell their father, they'd promised not to put up too much of a fuss about it.

It wouldn't be fool proof. Anybody who was really looking hard, would find the boys eventually. That was what Hermione was worried most about. Whatever it was that had killed Mary, it was very slowly making it's way up the list of acquaintances and at the top of that list, she could almost guarantee, would be Hermione and the boys.

* * *

"...Do I look like a glorified babysitter? John, I'm not just watching your children...No, I can't just leave them. Are you insane? Dean's far too young to leave on his own..."

Bobby let himself into the house early on Wednesday and found Hermione pacing the hall with Sam and Dean watching her through the banisters at the top of the stairs. He waved to the boys and wandered off to make the witch a cup of tea. It looked like one of those days.

"...Well get someone else to take it out to you!...John, I don't give a flying..." _Thank you. _Hermione mouthed, accepting the mug. "You said that last year." She ground out, clenching her hands into fists. "I've got to go." She didn't say goodbye, just slammed the phone down.

Bobby opened his mouth to speak but she held up a hand to silence him. He watched, slightly impressed, as she chugged the scalding liquid in one go and then handed him back the empty mug.

"Bad, bad, bad day." She whispered, groaning. "And it's only...nine thirty in the morning."

"Is dad okay?" Dean called from the landing.

"Yes, sweetheart. He's fine." Hermione frowned as if remembering something. "Shouldn't you two be at school?"

The boys tramped downstairs, school bags hanging at their sides.

"School bus broke down." Dean explained, "Remember?"

Hermione mouthed something Bobby was certain she didn't want the boys to repeat, and nodded.

"Car, now. Bobby, I'll be back in a minute, it's just..." She strode off, muttering under her breath, her hair a frizzy cloud which almost floated behind her. Sam and Dean made their way outside, as though this was a perfectly normal occurrence and they weren't now half an hour late.

Hermione was back twenty minutes later, looking just as stressed as when she'd left.

"It's just that John Winchester thinks I exist to serve his every need." She vented, evidently carrying on their conversation from where she'd left it. "Honestly. Does he really think that I can just drive across America to find some ritual for him?"

Bobby chuckled and wrapped his arms around the tiny witch, who was almost vibrating in agitation.

"Better?" He asked when she'd calmed down slightly, trying to ignore how nice she felt in his arms.

"Surprisingly, yes." She stepped back slightly, but not much, smiling up at him. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I need to know what I'm up against."

"Typical hunter." She muttered. "Come on then. But you know guns are no match for me."

Bobby grinned and hefted the sack with the latest experiment in it.

"Yeah, but I've got this."

"It had better not be another severed head." She called back, laughing.

* * *

"What the hell?"

Bobby stumbled back as a brown haired blur streaked past him, closely followed by a blonde one. He looked up to see Hermione watching him from the doorway, apparently highly amused.

"Is that...?"

"Harvelle's daughter? Yes, it is."

"An' what's she doing in your house?"

Hermione chuckled.

"Didn't I tell you? I've opened a home for wayward children. Come on, library's quiet."

They went into the library, Hermione settling herself in her favourite armchair, which she'd told him, she'd stolen from her old school.

"Apparently John let slip that he actually had children and Ellen got word. Nice woman actually, bit forward but no ones perfect. Anyway she drove up here to make sure they were being looked after properly. And we got to talking and she told me she had a daughter who was about Sam's age." Hermione shrugged, a sad look creeping into her eyes. "Of course two weeks after that, her husband died on a hunt. With John."

Bobby's surprise must have registered on his face because she nodded.

"I know. Ellen telling me was the first I'd heard of it. The poor woman sounded swept off her feet, with the bar and everything. So I offered to take Jo for a few days."

"An' she said yes?"

"Believe me I was as shocked as you are." Hermione laughed. "Jo and Sam get on like a house on fire."

"'Bout time that kid got some friends."  
"He had friends." Hermione cried, defensively.

"'Mione, the kid had his nose stuck in a book more often than not."

She glared at him grumpily.

"_Anyway_, Jo's staying until Sunday. Should give her mother a chance to breath."

There was an ominous crash from outside, which Hermione ignored. It seemed to take quite a bit of concentration to manage this, but she smiled at him pleasantly anyway.

"It's nice for them to have someone they can relate to properly." She added as someone started yelling a war cry. She groaned and buried her head in a cushion as Bobby laughed his head off.

* * *

"You seeing this?" Bobby asked in a strangled whisper, watching the three kids.

Hermione smirked as Jo made puppy eyes at an increasingly uncomfortable Dean.

"I know." She breathed, eyes sparking with mischief. "It's bloody adorable!"

* * *

Hermione opened the door and frowned.

"Are you all right?"

"In all honesty?"

"Preferably."

"No."

She stared at him a bit more and then let him in.

"The boys are at Ellen's for the weekend. Figured a change of scenery might do them good. I'll go and get the alcohol."

In the end they settled in the back garden, listening to nothing in particular.

"It was tonight." Bobby said at last.

Hermione raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.

"I was married, I ever tell you that?"

She shook her head.

"Going on fifteen years now. She was...amazing. We got married kinda young, I guess. Never seemed to bother us. I came home and there she was, eyes black as pitch. I stabbed her five times before Rufus turned up. He'd been tracking the demon..." He choked on his words. "It was too late."

Hermione sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.

"It wasn't your fault." She told him eventually.

* * *

"Get up!"

"No."

Bobby glared at the witch who'd fallen asleep on the sofa. They'd stayed up late last night, drinking and talking and doing nothing very much, in all honesty. Bobby sighed when she showed no signs of awaking and bent down, scooping her up in his arms. Hermione gave a shriek of surprise and her eyes snapped open.

"Put me down!" She ordered.

"Will you go back to sleep if I do?"

She cursed him in several languages that he didn't recognise and rested her head against his shoulder. He dropped her back on her feet when they reached his truck and she glared up at him, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

"Are you done?" She demanded.

"Just get in the damn truck."

Grumbling she slid onto the passengers seat, slamming the door behind her.

"Where are we going?" She asked as they headed into town.

"To get you an anti-possession tattoo."

She watched him for a moment and Bobby didn't need to look at her to know the closest thing he had to a best friend was concerned.

"Why?"

"I've already lost one woman I cared about to demons." He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "I ain't loosing another."

"Are you trying to tell me something, Singer?"

The gruff hunter's ears went slightly pink.

"Might be."

* * *

"Hey, Uncle Bobby." Dean gaped at him. "Did you get a haircut?"

Self conscious, Bobby ran a hand over his much shorter (and by extension, tidier) hair.

"What? No."

The fifteen year old snickered.

"Sure." Dean drawled.

"Oh, shut up, ya idgit."

The phone rang and Dean spun on his heel. There was a desperate scramble as the two boys pelted through the house and collided in the hall, both trying to reach the phone first. It ended when Sam grabbed his brother around his knees, sending Dean crashing to the ground. He leapt over Dean's head and snatched the phone from its cradle.

"Dad?"

The boys shoulders sagged.

"Oh right. Mum!" He called. Scowling he handed over the phone and was brought to the floor by Dean, who'd been lying in wait and had grabbed his ankle as he stepped past.

Rolling his eyes, Bobby closed the door behind him.

"Pair of idgits." he grumbled, helping the boys to their feet. The house was strangely decorated, Hermione's hatred of tacky decorations waging war against Sam's love of tinsel. There was a tree though, decorated with lights and baubles, a rather grumpy looking angel perched precariously on top.

"John still not called yet?" he asked quietly. Hermione grimaced as she made her way over to him.

"No. He promised Dean he would." She sighed, watching the boys dejected expressions. "Who wants presents!" She called.

Bobby had never seen someone's emotions do a u-turn so fast. Laughing, Hermione settled them in front of the tree, starting with two large squashy presents.

"These from grandma?" Dean asked, ripping the wrapping paper off.

"Yep!" Sam grinned as he pulled a large jumper from the parcel.

"My ex-fiance's mother pretty much adopted them." Hermione murmured in his ear when he looked at her questioningly. "She makes a jumper for every one of her grandchildren. Takes her most of the year."

Hermione got the next one, which she opened incredibly slowly, much to Sam's irritation.

"Oh, wow!" She held up the locket by it's chain, smiling broadly. It was about an inch and a half tall, embossed with a gold lion.

"We saw it in town and..." Dean shrugged, evidently slightly embarrassed. "Sam said the lion reminded him of the story."

Hermione slipped it over her head and opened it, before she almost fell off the sofa, laughing.

"I told you we shoulda put in different pictures." Sam muttered to his brother.

"Shut up." Dean hissed.

"Don't you dare." Hermione breathed, recovering. "I love it. Thank you." She showed Bobby the pictures. One was of Sam, who'd managed to make all of his hair stick up on end as though he'd been electrocuted and the other was of Dean who was pulling the most ridiculous face Bobby had ever seen.

Bobby handed over a small package to Sam, who beamed and passed it over to Dean.

"Uncle Bobby helped me get this. It's supposed to keep you safe on hunts and stuff."

Hermione frowned, staring at the amulet hanging from Dean's hand. The teenager grinned however and ruffled his brother's hair.

"Thanks Sammy."

The boys got a couple of books each and some sweets and in Dean's case, a steering wheel.

"I'm confused."

Hermione grinned.

"Thought you might be. That present is really more of a promise. I've talked it over with your Uncle Bobby and we know how much you like mechanics and..."

"An' I said you could come up to the salvage yard this summer and help me work on some of the cars."

Dean stared at them in shock.

"Seriously?"

"No, we just got you a steering wheel to stick on the wall of your room." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, seriously."

Dean hugged her tightly, now towering over her, having hit a growth spurt when he was fourteen.

"Thanks, 'Mione."

* * *

John still hadn't called by the time they sat down for dinner and Bobby was helping bring the dishes out to the table, when Hermione grabbed his elbow, stopping him in the doorway.

"What?"

She just grinned at up and stood up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Singer." She whispered. She headed back into the kitchen and somewhat dazed, Bobby turned to face the table. Sam and Dean glared at him, arms folded. He groaned.

"You've gotta be kidding me."

* * *

To the casual observer, Hermione was watching Sam play football (She point blank refused to call it soccer. There would be no pointless Americanisms in her house, thank you very much.) as she walked slowly around the field, ducking under a copse of trees. In reality...

"Put the wand away, witch."

Hermione didn't put it away and instead aimed at the man who hadn't taken his eyes off Sam for a second. Dean was out of town with his dad, which was just as well she realised, as the man stood up and she almost staggered under the wave of power he gave off.

"What are you?" she demanded.

The man smirked, pushing his light brown hair back. He was of a similar height to her, which wasn't very tall and his golden eyes almost sparkled with mischief.

"A neutral party." He told her cheerfully.

"Interested in what?"

He rolled his eyes.

"I came to see Sam, wasn't expecting the soccer mom though. Don't suppose you're going to tell me what one of your kind is doing with the Winchesters?"

"Not a chance." She hissed. "What's the interest in Sam?"

"I wanted to see what all the fuss was about." The man pulled a lollipop from nowhere and sucked on it. "I mean he's a cute kid and all, but honestly, I was expecting taller."

Hermione let the tip of her wand glow briefly, hopeful that no one could see it under the trees.

"What do you want with him?" She demanded.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt him." His eyes became horribly serious and she almost stepped away as the logical part of her told her to run. "There's a war coming, witch, and he's going to be at the centre of it. They both are. Ain't nothing you can do to stop it."

"Just you watch me." She promised.

He gave a half smile around the lollipop stick.

"No matter how many wards or spells or demon traps you put around them, it's still coming. You know as well as I do, you can't escape destiny. Those boys of yours...they're gonna burn."

He vanished and she dropped her wand, shaking.

* * *

"I need to know, Singer."

Bobby avoided her eyes, resting his head on his hands.

"Yeah."

"What?" She whispered.

"It's getting worse out there. Something's coming and it's like the whole damn world is gearing up for it. It might take ten years, twenty, but it'll get here and there ain't no hiding from it. Especially not for those boys."

He looked up at her, expecting to see her looking defeated. But she surprised him, an iron clad resolve coming across her.

"Then we'd better make damn sure they're ready for it."

* * *

"Who is this?" Rufus demanded suspiciously.

"Hermione Granger, I'm looking for Bobby Singer. Who're you?"

Rufus covered the mouthpiece with his hand.

"Hey Singer? There's some British girl on the phone for you."

Bobby shot across the room, snatching the phone from his friend.

"Don't answer my calls." He grumbled. "Hermione?"

"Hi." She sounded unusually worried. "Listen, I don't suppose you've heard from John recently?"

"Uh, no. Why? What's that idgit got himself into now?"

She sighed.

"He took Dean hunting. Promised he'd be back in a few days and it's been almost a week. I'm going out of my mind with worry..."

Bobby smacked away Rufus' hand when he tried to steal the phone.

"Listen, I'm sure Dean's fine. He's a tough kid. But I'll put out a few calls, see if anyone's heard anything."

There was a rush of static as she breathed out heavily.

"Thanks Bobby. I owe you one."

Bobby chuckled.

"Make me dinner sometime. I'll get back to you."

Rufus smirked at him as he hung up.

"Who was that?"

"You know John Winchester? He's got two kids?"

Rufus nodded.

"Know of 'um, yeah."

"Well, Hermione looks after them. She's pretty much their mom. Hell of a woman."

"Oh really?"

Bobby flushed.

"Shut it, ya idgit."

* * *

**_Sorry I didn't update last night, but I was exhausted. _**

**_Thanks to all of you who offered your condolences, means a lot._**

**_I hope you like this._**

**_Please review, you'd be making my day._**

**_Hood._**

**_P.S Special thanks to: Backgammon, meldz (if that was a hint about HOSB I'm sorry!), Anna Sela, chris7100, Brightstar, Countess Czan, LeonaMasha, Punkyredhead and especially Genius for being interested when he's no longer obligated to be. _**


	4. As This House Falls

"I'm looking for Mrs Granger?"

Hermione's heart jumped in her chest. It had been a week since she'd heard from John and two days since she'd contacted Bobby. The only people who called looking for _Mrs_ Granger were those calling about the boys.

"Why?" She demanded, cautiously.

"This here is Sheriff Digby. I've got a Dean Granger here in custody. He yours?"

She groaned this time, meeting Sam's worried gaze across the room.

"Of course you do." She muttered, worry quickly replaced with anger. "Yes, he's mine. Want me to come and get him?"

* * *

"Are you mad at me?"

Hermione didn't answer, just focused on the road ahead, jaw clenched.

"Crap." Dean whispered to himself.

* * *

"You left him with the police!" Dean scowled and rested his head in his hands. Sam grimaced sympathetically next to him as they sat in their customary positions at the top of the stairs. They were listening to Hermione who'd been yelling down the phone line for ten minutes and showed no sign of slowing down any time soon. "You realise he has a permanent mark on his record now, don't you? Why did you even let him out of your sight?"

"I'm _sixteen_." Dean muttered to Sam.

"You got caught." Sam pointed out.

Sam yelped when his brother punched his shoulder.

"John, I don't care if the hunt was important. I don't even care if you were seconds away from the son of a bitch who took Mary. The _only _thing I care about is you bringing Dean home safely." She kicked at the table, sending a vase crashing to the floor. "There were bigger _concerns at the _time!" She repeated on the verge of screaming. "John Winchester, there are only two lives you should be concerned with..."

There was silence for a second and then...

"No." Hermione was now almost pleading. "No way. He's too young...You don't need him, he's twelve you utter bastard. I'm sorry, but over my dead body are you taking Sam hunting!"

She slammed the phone down.

The brothers stared at each other.

"I don't want to go hunting." Sam whispered.

"I know, Sammy." Dean messed up his hair, which made Sam scowl. "No one's going to let anything happen to you."

* * *

After that the fights became a lot more frequent. The boys weren't very sure what started them, just that they made Hermione very stressed and their father very angry. Things got worse from then on and had Dean been looking for it, he could have pinpointed the exact moment his family began to go down hill. But at the time he wasn't looking for it. Hermione had given him the luxury of being like any other sixteen year old and he was thoroughly enjoying it.

* * *

"WHERE IS HE?"

Hermione smiled innocently at the irate father.

"Who?"

"The Granger boy!"

She laughed, tucking the shotgun back into its place, behind the door.

"Sam?" she called, smirking slightly.

Sam stuck his head around the living room door.

"Yeah?"

"Come here a moment. This gentleman would like to talk to you."

Sam padded to the door and smiled up at the man, whose face was slowly turning a worrying shade of red.

"Not that one! The big one!"

"Big one?" Hermione pretended to think for a moment, studiously keeping her gaze _away_ from the two teenagers sneaking down the side of the front garden. "Oh, you mean Dean? Tell you what, why don't you come in for a second and I'll go check his room?" She shut the door behind the man.

Another five minutes later and an elaborate pantomime involving showing Dean's empty room and coming to the conclusion that Dean had to be at the Library in town, because her boy was ever so studious, and the man was about ready to have an aneurysm.

"Listen, I know he came in here, I followed him..."

Hermione's eyes darkened and the man took a step backwards as she seemed to lose her temper.

"You _followed_ my son! What kind of sick freak are you!"

The man paled.

"Now, you just listen here..."

"Sam!" She called. "Get me the phone. I need to call the police." She turned back to the man who was slowly backing his way out of the house. "How dare you go anywhere near Dean! I bet you don't even have a daughter, you're just some disgusting weirdo who hangs around at the school gate looking for young boys. Is that it?"

Sam handed her the phone.

"Here you go."

The man had fled before she'd even pressed the first number, Sam slamming the door behind him. The twelve year old looked at her, completely serious.

"Well, that was weird."

Hermione collapsed into giggles, sliding down the wall. Sam joined her, almost rolling around on the floor in mirth.

"Did you see his face?" He gasped out.

Hermione grinned at him.

"Blimey." She wiped a stray tear away from her eyes. "Did you text your brother?"

Sam nodded.

"Yeah. Told him to hang out in town for a bit."

She got to her feet.

"Who wants to see how much grovelling we can get him to do?"

* * *

Dean didn't get home till six and was greeted by his smirking brother.

"Mum's furious." Sam told him cheerfully.

Paling slightly, Dean headed into the kitchen, where Hermione was sitting at the kitchen table.

"Uh...hi."

"Hi, to you too. Sit."

He sat, tugging at his collar to his the marks on his shoulders.

"So what's their name?"

Dean groaned.

"'Mione please..."

Hermione glared at him

"Dean Winchester, I chased a man out of this house, yelling that he was a paedophile. I think I deserve some details. Like a name, age, gender..."

Dean mumbled something under his breath and Hermione's eyes sharpened.

"What was that?" She barked.

"Her name's Holly. She's in my English class." He almost whispered.

Hermione smirked.

"She seemed nice. Of course, I couldn't tell. You didn't introduce her."

Dean's shoulders slumped.

"She's nice. Pretty." He glared resentfully at the table.

"Of course she is." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right then Casanova, we need to have a talk."

"What?" Dean's eyes went wide and he blushed. "Oh, come on. Not this again, 'Mione."

She chuckled.

"Not that talk. But if you want we can go through the whole thing again?"

Dean banged his head off the table.

"'Mione..." He begged.

"I'm just teasing." She frowned at him and Dean caught something other than the usual bemusement in his godmother's eyes. She was worried. Really, really worried. He hadn't seen her this worried since he was thirteen and his dad had taken him away for his first hunt. "I've got no problem with you dating or whatever it was you were doing up there, as long as you act like a gentleman and behave the way I raised you to. However..." Her hands, clasped on the table, tightened until her knuckles turned white. "Your father won't approve." She rubbed at her temples. "Are you happy at school? Living here with me?"

"Well, yeah." Dean grinned. "Course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Hermione sighed.

"Your dad is going to expect a choice from you soon. I've been holding him off for as long as I can, your Uncle Bobby's been helping, keeping him on hunts on the other side of America, Merlin knows John's been giving him all sorts of grief about it..." She bit her lip and stopped talking.

"Is this about those phone calls?" He asked warily. "You and dad fightin' all the time?"

Hermione ran her hands through her hair, charging them with static. The curls almost crackled around her face in her agitation and, not for the first time, Dean reflected on how young his godmother was.

"Well, in part, yes. You're sixteen. You can leave school at the end of this summer and _officially_ I can't stop your father from taking you." She twitched. "Not that I ever could of course, it's just...However, as far as I'm concerned you're still a child." She gave a slightly hollow laugh. "I suppose it's a bit hard not to see the tiny boy you used to be and now..." She trailed off.

"So what, Dad's gonna take me off to be a hunter?" He asked curiously.

"That's your choice." She tapped out an uneven rhythm on the table and didn't meet his eyes. "But it's only your choice, Dean. Don't let him take that away from you."

He smirked.

"Don't worry, 'Mione. I'll be fine."

"DEAN!"

The teenager jumped, staring at her in amazement as she slammed her hands down, knocking the sugar bowl over.

"Listen to me." She hissed, eyes wide. "There may come a time when I am not there to look after you and I need to know that you're going to be okay! Darling, you know how much you two mean to me and..."

"You want me to look after Sam?" He dead panned.

"What?" Hermione stared at him. "Why would I ask you to do that?"

He gave an uncomfortable shrug.

"It's what Dad tells me. Look after Sammy. Watch out for Sammy. Remember Sammy." He imitated his father's growl, wrinkling his nose in annoyance.

"Dean, you're his big brother. Of course you're going to look after him. It's part of who you are and he'll look after you too." Dean scoffed at the idea of his baby brother trying to protect him and Hermione smiled faintly. "No, Dean. I want you to look out for yourself. Sam's getting to an age where his big brother can't fix every single problem in the world. Not that he won't try." She added when he bristled. "But you have your own problems and your own life. I need to know that you are going to look out for yourself. Do you understand?"

Dean stared at her, but nodded slowly.

"Sure, Auntie 'Mione. I understand."

* * *

"He deserves a life, freedom. You can't just drag him out on hunts as and when you feel like. He needs to go to school. Get an education."

"He's not a kid..."

"Yes he is! He's _sixteen. _He deserves to get that choice."

John snorted in disgust.

"There's nothing he needs to learn that comes from school. Those exams are just a distraction. He's going to be a hunter."

Hermione snarled.

"No, he's being forced to be a hunter. You _want_ him to be one. Have you ever even asked Dean what he wants to do with his life?"

"I'm his father, I know..."

"He's not five any more, John! The days where you could just pick him up and drop him where you wanted him to be are gone. It's his life, for Merlin's sake, let him live it!"

John's eyes narrowed and he took a step closer to her.

"What the hell would you know? You're not his mother, you're not even his real aunt. You're just a glorified babysitter." He smirked. "You couldn't hold onto your own family so you borrowed mine."

"Get out!" She hissed, eyes glinting in fury.

John scoffed.

"You can't throw me out."

Hermione's hair began to charge with static.

"I beg to differ. _My _house..._my_ children." She raised her palms to shove him away from her.

"They're not your children!" He retorted.

"LEAVE!" She screamed, and with a tidal wave of horror, felt her magic push through her palms sending John flying backwards. He hit the wall of the kitchen, knocking over a shelf of books. The hunter stared at her in disgust.

"What the hell are you?"

In that second Hermione's temper, so carefully held in check for almost twelve years, broke free and she made a terrible, irrational decision. She drew her wand from her pocket, twirling it between her fingers.

"You know," She whispered softly. "I've had it up to here with you, Winchester. You didn't raise these boys, I did. You're a lousy excuse for a father. So you leave my house now and I won't curse you to within an inch of your life. You leave now and you _never _come back to threaten my family."

"I should never have trusted you." John spat, drawing his gun.

"I should have pushed Mary to a divorce." She cocked her head to one side, dimly aware that she probably looked like the monster John suspected her to be. "It's funny what hindsight can teach you, isn't it?"

John raised the gun and Hermione finally acted. John dodged the first spell but the second hit him in the gut, causing his legs to snap together. He wobbled and Hermione caught him with a levitation charm. _He really hadn't stood a chance_, she thought darkly

"Bye." She hissed, propelling John out the house. "_Colloportus._" She added, locking the door in his face.

* * *

"I did something stupid, Bobby." She murmured.

Hermione watched Sam and Dean eating dinner, laughing over something.

"Yeah, I know. John just got in touch with me wantin' to know the best way to and I quote "_roast that bitch all the way back to hell._"_" _

"Creative." She whispered, glancing out the blinds cautiously. Harry rubbed at her ankles in comfort, purring. She knew Kneazle purrs though. That one wasn't from contentment. It was a war cry. "We're moving. But on the off chance he does get to them, he'll go to you. You know that. I can't come after them if they go with John willingly. Just..." she paused, willing herself not to cry. "Take care of our boys, Singer."

"Yeah, well whose gonna take care of you?"

She didn't really have an answer for that.

* * *

Hermione could have packed by magic. She could have left everything behind and vanished with the brothers back to England. She could have done any number of things. The list of things she was _willing_ to do however, was much shorter. She'd considered telling the boys about magic and about her. Sam would probably have believed her but Dean...He'd been taught since he was four that witches were evil. He'd take Sam and run straight to John and _that_ was the last thing she wanted.

So she told them there was a high demon count in town and they were moving before things got bad. It would take a week for them to leave. She could hold off one muggle for a week.

* * *

John had found them after school, the Impala parked on the curbside.

"Dad!" The brothers stared at him as he leaned against the black polished metal.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"Is that anyway to talk to your father?" John smiled at them and something about it set Dean's teeth on edge. "Listen, I cleared it with Hermione and I'm taking you both on a hunt. Up in South Dakota. That sound good to you?"

Sam stepped back, partially hiding behind his brother.

"I don't wanna go hunting."

"Sam, get in the car!" John ordered.

"I won't let you get hurt." Dean whispered, as they sat together in the back seat. Sam twitched but otherwise didn't respond.

"Look, I'm going to swing by the house so you can pick up your hunting gear, okay kid?"

Warily, Dean nodded. They left Sam in the car, John drawing his weapon as Dean unlocked the door. He left his father in the hallway, pacing like a caged tiger and headed upstairs to grab some things for him and Sammy. There was the sounds of a scuffle coming from downstairs and he zipped the bag closed and sped down the stairs.

John was bleeding from his temple and he and Hermione circled each other in the hall. She had a stick clenched in one hand, and the other was pressed tightly to her thigh, which was bleeding sluggishly.

The continued to circle each other, but Hermione paled when she saw Dean and John's eyes narrowed maliciously.

"Oh, don't stop on his account. Go on. Show him what a monster you are."

"'Mione?" Dean asked, one hand holding the duffle bag. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, sweetheart." Hermione swallowed and dropped the stick. It landed with a clatter on the floor and she backed away from John. For a fraction of a second, Hermione's expression crumpled. Then she met Dean's gaze and he was surprised by the strength in it. Strength and resignation.

"Don't you hurt him. Don't you dare." She hissed, glaring at John. "Look after yourselves." She whispered to Dean. She'd backed into the wall by this point, John following her as though they were performing some form of macabre dance. Dean felt frozen, a thousand interpretations clamouring at him, but the truth, horrible apparent. His father was hunting a monster and Hermione was the one backing away.

"You don't get to talk to my children." John snarled. "You don't get to do much of anything."

He shoved her backwards so her head cracked off the wall, bringing the knife he'd concealed in his coat forward to stab her through the shoulder. The blade went through her flesh like so much wet cardboard and Dean heard the thunk as it sunk into the drywall behind her. Hermione shrieked in agony. Dean didn't make a sound, just stared in shock and horror.

"'Mione?" He almost whimpered.

"Get in the car." His father ordered, turning to leave. Dean, acting on auto pilot more than anything else, made to follow, but he turned back at the last moment. Blood was starting to soak into her shirt and she hung limp and pale, like a marionette with it's strings cut. But she lifted her head and stared at him as he backed away, shaking his head in horror.

"It's okay." She promised, tears racing down her cheeks. "It's okay."

* * *

John drove through the night, with Sam boring himself to sleep in the back seat. Dean knew because he hadn't taken his eyes off his brother for a second, too shocked to do much else. John didn't talk to him and for once, Dean wasn't interested in one iota of his fathers attention. Sam woke up as the crossed the state border into South Dakota. As far as Dean could tell they were headed to Bobby's place. Bobby was going to kill him. Hermione was...

Sam sprang out the second the car stopped and ran straight to Bobby, throwing his arms around the man.

"What the hell is wrong with that boy?" John muttered angrily.

Dean clenched his teeth, ignoring the question.

"Did you get her?" Bobby called as soon as Sam had gone inside.

Dean almost dropped his bag in shock, staring at his honorary uncle in shock.

"Yep. Right through the shoulder with iron, just like you said." John seemed to be exceptionally pleased with himself as though he'd slain some ghoul and not the closest thing Dean had had to a mother since he'd been four.

"You gonna tell me what the hell _happened_? You just stabbed my godmother!" He'd tried to keep his temper but somehow it had just exploded out of his control and he almost screamed at them. The two hunters stared at him, visibly shocked.

"Dean, she was a monster. A witch." John shook his head ruefully. "Damn powerful one too. She needed to be stopped."

"What?" He gasped.

John shrugged.

"I'd suspected something was up with her for a while. She's been manipulating you, Dean."

The teenager staggered back, falling hard against the Impala.

"I don't...What?" He repeated.

Vaguely he registered Bobby saying;

"Give the kid some time. He's had a nasty shock."

Gravel crunched under Bobby's boots as he approached.

"Dean? Look at me dammit!"

Dean jerked his gaze up.

"Is it true?" He demanded.

Bobby swore under his breath.

"Kid, listen..."

"Is. It. True?" Dean bit out, furious now.

The older hunter sighed.

"Your dad thinks so, yeah."

* * *

Somehow in the next few months Dean hung onto the hope that his father could be wrong. But John would never lie to him, especially about something like this. The difficulty was telling Sam.

"We're not going home, are we?"

Dean jumped and stared at his brother. Sam had been quiet over the summer, especially since they left Bobby's. The older hunter had fallen out with John and they'd been switching from motel to motel ever since.

"Sammy...?"

"Mum's all right, isn't she?"

"Yeah." Dean lied. For all he knew she was dead. "It's just...we're staying with dad from now on."

"But..."

"Just leave it, Sam."

* * *

"Come on, Dean."

Dean glared at his father across the clearing.

"I'm not gonna fight you, dad."

John relaxed his fighting stance, scowling.

"I need to know how much I've got to teach you. So come on..."

John swung for him and Dean dodged the blow, ten years worth of training kicking in. The fight was short and brutal, ending with John flat on his back and Dean crouched next to his head.

"Warned you." he murmured, before dusting himself off and heading back to the motel.

* * *

It was his seventeenth birthday when it happened. Dean had been trekking back to the car, shivering in the January cold. The hunt had been successful, but he'd been separated from his dad about half an hour ago and left with little choice but to head back along. Swearing, he clapped a hand to the back of his head, convinced he'd just been hit with a rock. He shone his torch up into the trees, searching for the culprit. When nothing jumped out at him, he lowered the beam to the ground to look for the projectile.

"What the hell?" He muttered.

Almost indistinguishable from the brown leaf litter, a small parcel sat innocently by his foot. Cautiously he picked it up and almost dropped it again when he spotted his name written on it in a worryingly familiar script.

He almost left it there, but something in him was horribly curious and he slit the strings holding the parcel together with his knife. A note and a watch unrolled into his palm.

_Dean, _

_Where I come from we come of age at seventeen. A pocket watch is usually traditional but I thought this would be more practical. I know you're probably mad at me and you have no reason to listen to me but...if you ever need anything I'll be waiting for you. _

_Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus. _

The short note wasn't signed but it didn't need to be. He'd seen this handwriting before. On his sick notes, school trip forms, shopping lists...

At least she wasn't dead, he thought and then promptly berated himself. As his father often said, he wasn't supposed to care.

* * *

John grabbed at his wrist as he passed, tugging the sleeve up.

"What's that?" He demanded curiously.

Dean glanced down guiltily. He knew he shouldn't have kept it, but something in him just hadn't wanted to let go. It was the same part of him which believe his father had stabbed an innocent woman.

"Watch." He said shortly. "Won it off some guy.

John accepted the lie easily, examining the silver curiously.

"You going to sell it?"

Dean pulled his arm away from his father, letting his sleeve drop to cover it. Sam, who'd know almost immediately who'd sent it, stared at his big brother, shaking his head very slowly.

"Nah." He decided.

* * *

"How'd you know?" Dean asked the next time he and his brother were alone.

Sam beamed at him.

"The story," He told him happily. "Harry Potter got one for his birthday."

"Sam," Dean said weakly. "You know that's just a story right? None of it's true."

"Oh, yeah? Like werewolves or vampires?" Sam gave him a look which implied he was being stupid. "Mum wouldn't lie to us."

Dean sighed.

"You know we can't go back, don't you?"

Sam glared at him.

"I know _Dad _says we can't."

* * *

It was February when they met him. Sam and Dean were sitting at a booth in a diner, pouring over files. Sam was half asleep, John having kept him up late for running drills and Dean's eyes were staring dully out the window. Neither boy has done any work in the last half an hour. John would be furious. But John had left town and wouldn't be back for several days, so Dean couldn't quite bring himself to care.

His eyes were drawn to a man with dark hair who stalks past the window. He paused when he spotted Dean, before he continued on past the window. He'd looked strangely familiar.

The door to the diner opened with a clang and the man stepped inside, making a beeline for the Winchesters. He was middle aged, with messy dark hair and bright, startling green eyes, hidden behind wire frames. Dean nudged Sam awake as the man drew nearer, one hand reaching into his pocket for his gun.

"Hello."

Sam's eyes widened.

"You're English." He said gleefully. "Just like..." Dean kicked him to shut him up and Sam stared at him, confused.

"Just like your godmother." The man finished.

They stared at him and he ran a hand through his hair as though uncomfortable.

"Listen, I really don't have a lot of time. I was just passing through the area, I'm actually tracking someone at the moment but I saw you two in the window and...Do you know how worried we've been? Hermione's been going insane, not knowing if you two are okay." He eyed Dean warily. "I see you got your watch."

Silently, Dean nodded. Evidently sensing he wasn't going to get much more out of him, the man turned to Sam who was almost bouncing with excitement. "I've got to ask, are you two safe with your father?"

Sam nodded reluctantly.

"He treating you well?" The man adds, green eyes blazing.

Sam nodded reluctantly.

"Dad said Mu...'Mione was evil. That she didn't really care about us."

For a brief second Dean saw something close to fury on the man's face, before he rolled his eyes and gave them an easy smile.

"Hermione isn't evil. Trust me, I'd know. She's terrifying, scary, bossy...but never evil. Believe me on that." He clenched his jaw. "Listen to me Sam. There is no one on this earth Hermione cares about, more than you two. You know where she is when you need her."

"Who are you?" Sam calls as the man strides away.

He paused at the door, turning to smile at them.

"My names Harry Potter. I'm your uncle." And he left.

* * *

It was a tiny town in the middle of nowhere and for some reason Dean couldn't quite fathom, it was having a market. His eyes were drawn to a brightly coloured stall, bedecked with purple flags which bore a logo of three gold W's. The red haired man behind the stall watched him, smirking. He had long shaggy hair, which framed blue eyes and one ear.

"Uncle George." He greeted warily.

The prankster grinned.

"Hey kid. How'd you know it was me?"

"'Mione had a picture of you in her library. She told me your name. You looking for me?" He added tightly.

"Nah. Just figured I'd set up a stall here. Nice place, isn't it?" His voice jarred horribly with the mid-west town and it brought to mind bedtime stories told in a terribly precise accent.

"Right. What's with that then?"

George grinned at the photo frame which took up centre stage on the table. Sam and Dean were covered in cream, dirt and other unmentionable substances. They were grinning at the camera and holding a sign that read. "_Hermione is going to kill you, Forge Weasley!_"

"That's my tenth birthday. 'Mione got me stuff from your shop."

The man nodded.

"Yeah, well 'Mione's got the whole family on the watch for you. Gotta say, it's nice to finally meet one of my illusive nephews." He looked him over. "Merlin, you look more worried than Granger did during the war. I'm not going to attack you. Hermione would kill me if I did."

Dean shrugged and didn't relax.

"She came after you, you know." The red head cut across him before he could open his mouth to respond. "That bastard got her in the gut with some sort of lead thing...I don't know. Took her three weeks to recover and by then she'd lost the trail. Your father's done something to keep her away. When Harry found you it was a complete accident. She stopped looking after that." George scowled up at him, tilting his chair back to a precarious angle. "I was just passing through when I saw you and your brother. How is Sam?"

Dean didn't say anything, eyeing his boots.

"Listen, I get it. You're more loyal to your father than you are to the woman who raised you. That's fine."

Dean flinched.

"He's my dad." He muttered, loyally. "I thought she was dead..."

George laughed darkly.

"Sure. Whatever yow he remembered.

"I can't go back." He said suddenly. "Not now..."

His honorary uncle watched him through narrowed eyes.

"Maybe you know Hermione better than I do. I don't know. I haven't seen her since she got saddled with you two, gave up a lot for you, you realise. Not that I'm trying to make you feel guilty. But the great thing about our Hermione, is that she forgives almost anything. I should know, my idiot little brother and Potter put her through hell. She forgave my mother for calling her a harlot. She even forgave me and my twin for...well quite a lot of things, really. You think she can't forgive you?"

Dean didn't answer.

"Dean?"

He glanced up the road, catching sight of his father.

"I've got to go."

George gave a deep sigh.

"Fine. Do what you like, Granger. But she'll be there when you need her."

* * *

Dean didn't tell his brother about meeting George. It probably wouldn't have made much difference, in truth, because by then things had begun to change for the Winchesters. Sam, who'd been difficult to begin with, became downright rebellious. It started small, ordering tea in a diner instead of coffee, using the British slang Hermione had passed on to them growing up. John scowled every time he did it, jaw clenching in anger. It only grew from there. Dean had once found him telling other kids about Harry Potter and Hogwarts. He wouldn't do what his father asked, only going on hunts when there was no other option. He barely spoke to Dean and buried himself in his school work. He even ran away several times, getting further and further with each attempt. Dean always caught him before he got too far but it was the principle that bothered him.

When Sam's watch arrived on his seventeenth birthday and for the first time, Dean began to see a glimmer of hope in his little brother.

Three days later Sam had a bag packed and a dangerous glint in his eye.

"I'm leaving." He said.

"Like hell you are!" John clenched his fist around the whiskey bottle. He should have been physically intimidating, but Sam had finally hit his growth spurt and, although lanky, now towered over the older hunter.

"I'm going and you can't stop me."

John snorted in disgust, eyes bloodshot and angry.

"You step out that door, boy and you ain't ever coming back."

"Suits me fine."

That was the last thing Sam Winchester ever said to his father. Dean waited ten minutes and then snuck outside. He caught up with brother halfway down the road.

"Where are you going, Sam?" He called from the car.

"Train station."

Dean sighed.

"Get in, would you?" He ordered.

Silently, Sam folded himself into the front seat, his bag balanced across his legs.

"I'm not going back." He said stubbornly.

"I'm not gonna ask you to." Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as they waited at a red light. "Where are you headed? Bobby's?"

"Mum's house."

Dean almost slammed on the brakes. He turned to face his brother in shock.

"What! Weren't you listening to Dad? We can't go back there."

"Yeah. I heard Dad. The first thousand times. But seriously Dean, did you ever see any proof?"

Dean clenched his jaw.

"No." He said unwillingly. "But I saw the knife."

Sam stared at him in shock.

"What?"

"Dad stabbed her. In the shoulder." He sighed. "Sam, I don't know what to think. Even if she is completely normal...he's our dad. We should listen to him. He wouldn't lie to us."

"You always take his side." Sam grumbled. There were drawing close to the train station now and Sam grabbed the handle of his bag. "Come with me." He pleaded desperately.

"What?" Dean gaped at him. "Sam...Dad needs me. I can't just leave him."

Sam opened the door and stepped out on to the pavement.

"I thought you'd say that." He murmured. "Bye Dean."

Dean leaped from the car.

"That's it? You're walking away from me forever and that's all your going to say? Bye?"

Several paces ahead Sam's shoulders slumped.

"Dean, I'm just going home. You're the one whose walking away. I'll text you, okay?"

* * *

Two days later Dean get the message he was promised.

Two words.

_Home safe._

* * *

**_This chapter was HARD!_**

**_Let me know what you think. I'm going to do my best to have this finished by tomorrow. _**

**_We're pulling an all nighter, Ladies and Gentlemen!_**

**_Wondering if there's coffee,_**

**_Hood._**

**_P.S If you haven't, please check out my Sherlock/Hermione crossover. Stalemate is the third one in my series and I didn't write almost 20000 words for nothing._**


	5. Sam

It took Sam almost two days to make it to home. He'd been saving up, scrimping and scraping together enough cash for quite a while.

He could have sworn she'd known he was coming. The note that came with his watch had been reassuringly obvious.

_Happy Birthday, Sam._

_You know where I am if you need me. Travel safe, darling._

_Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_

He knew the motto. He'd heard it hundreds of times when she'd described Hogwarts to him, embellishing a wonderland of turrets and ghosts that didn't fight. Hermione didn't know this, but he'd spent his entire eleventh birthday on tender hooks, waiting for a letter delivered by owl. It had never come but he still had faith.

* * *

He was forced to walk from the town to the house, his bag digging into his shoulder as he made his way along the pavements. He kept expecting regret to creep up on him and send him scurrying back to his father, but it never came. For the first time he didn't have to worry about hunting or about monsters. He still had his knife on him, he wasn't an idiot. But it came with a guarantee now, instead of a burden.

Night fell quickly and so did the rain. By the time he reached the bottom of the drive he was soaked through and shivering, his second hand clothes doing little to keep out the cold.

There was a lantern lit on the porch and it cast a warm glow through the night. Somewhat stiffly he made his way up the steps, dripping onto the wood work. There was no doorbell, but then there never had been. Hermione had hated them, saying they disturbed the peace.

Cautiously he knocked on the door and waited.

He could hear her making her way through the house, occasionally muttering to herself.

"Well, you'd be have a good excuse for coming by this la..." Her mouth dropped open as she stared up at him.

"Uh...hi mum."

"Sam?" She whispered, eyes filling with tears, stretching out one hand to touch his shoulder. Checking he was real. "Oh, Merlin."

Sam staggered as she leapt at him, hugging him tightly.

She ushered him inside, without bothering to do any of the usual checks.

"Aren't you worried I'm a shape shifter or something?" He asked curiously, his father's paranoia somewhat infectious.

"Do you really think I wouldn't know you when I see you?" She teased, shutting the door. She swiped the tears from her cheeks and smiled at him bravely. "Besides the house is warded against everyone except family. You're soaking. Honestly, would it have killed him to buy you a decent coat?"

Sam laughed and then kept laughing because he hadn't realised how much he'd missed this. She glared at him, tear tracks still visible.

"Missed you," He murmured, hugging her again.

"I missed you too, sweetheart." She took a step back, looking him over. She smiled faintly. " You got dry clothes in there?"  
He nodded and she sent him off to get changed. When he got back he paused in the hallway to look around. There was a large painting covering one wall which hadn't been there when they'd left. A large stag, a wolf and a dog were framed against a wild background, almost alarming in their likeness.

_Moony, Padfoot and Prongs_, read the small plaque at the bottom.

"Sam?"

Frowning slightly, the teen headed into the kitchen. It looked the same as it always had and the scent of chocolate was drifting in the warm air. They sat down at the table, Hermione eyeing him like he might vanish any second. He supposed he couldn't blame her for that.

"What are you doing here?" She asked eventually.

Sam sipped at his hot chocolate and smiled.

"I haven't had this in years." He said happily. "You know, growing up, I didn't really know dad. He was just this guy who turned up every so often." He shrugged. "What kind of a parent does that?" Hermione's lips twitched for a moment before she returned her serene expression. "As far as I'm concerned, he's not my parent. Hell even Uncle Bobby was more of a father to me than him. How is he, by the way?"

"He's fine. Grouchy as always. On a hunt in Utah at the moment, if I remember correctly. You're not answering the question, Sam." She chided.

He took another fortifying sip and leaned back, his wet hair dripping slightly.

"Dad...He always said you were evil, that you were a monster." She flinched. "That you didn't care about us and...I just wanted to go home, mum. I never wanted to go with him. Dean said it would be all right but..." His voice squeaked embarrassingly as he tried to hold back his emotions. John had hated it when he got upset. "I hated it. I hate being a hunter, I hate melting down silver, I hate motel rooms, I hate..."

"I get the point." She teased softly.

"I told dad I was leaving. He told me not to bother coming back." He smiled faintly. "Dean gave me a lift to the station."  
"He wouldn't come too?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

"He said he had to stay with dad. They've always been closer." He shrugged. "Can I stay here? Please?"

She cocked her head to one side, a small smile crossing her face.

"Of course you can, sweetheart." She reached out and clasped his hand. "I'm hardly going to throw you out of your own home. Especially when you just made your way back."

They drank in silence for a while, the only sound coming from the faint ticking of clocks and the raindrops on the windows. Harry leapt into Sam's lap and rubbed his head against his chin, sinking his claws into the boys chest, fondly. Wincing, Sam removed the feline and sat him on the table.

"Why didn't you come after us?" He asked suddenly. "You could have taken us away."

Hermione sighed.

"I tried, believe me. I was in hospital for a while and then I followed you when you left Bobby's, staying as close as I dared. John didn't leave you alone for a minute. He spotted me outside of Texas and shot me."

Sam paled.

"What?"

"I was fine, don't worry. Anyway, I lost you after that. When I finally found you again, John had done something, some kind of Hoodoo, I'm still not sure. I couldn't get near you. I couldn't take you away. You had to want to leave. So I sent Dean his watch instead and went back home. I wanted to be here in case you came looking. John sent hunters after me a few times but...In all honesty, I don't think your brother would have come with me." She sighed. "I am really sorry, I lost you, Sam. Really sorry."

"It wasn't your fault. When we were a way..." He began slowly, eyeing the black fur curiously. "We met a guy called Harry Potter. He turned up in a diner one day and said he knew you."

Hermione nodded, pursing her lips.

"That wouldn't be incorrect." She told him.

"Where did you two meet?"

Hermione sighed and set down her mug, scratching the Kneazle under his chin.

"We went to school together. We were in the same house and we got up to all sorts of trouble. Us and Ron, anyway."

Sam swallowed.

"'Mione, what school did you go to?"

She leant back in her chair, deep brown eyes watching him tiredly. He noticed that she looked exhausted as though she hadn't slept for months.

"I think you know the answer to that." She whispered at last.

"But...Those stories you told..." He almost leapt from his chair. "The girl." he breathed. "You never told us her name." He realised. She smiled and waited for him to get to the end of his train of thought. "Those stories, they were about _you_!"

"I didn't always live in America, you know." She teased. There was a slightly edge of worry in her tone though.

"Why did you never tell me?" Sam gasped, feeling betrayed.

"I did tell you." She was watching him warily. "I passed it on in the only way I could. I couldn't risk your father finding out."

"That's why we left. Wasn't it? Dad found out."

She nodded, looking ashamed.

"It was all my fault. I lost my temper and my magic..." Sam flinched the slightest bit at the word. "It reacted. And I thought, to hell with it. I threw him out the house. Wasn't my finest moment, I'll admit, especially seeing as it lost me my godchildren. Never regretted anything more, to be honest."

Sam frowned.

"What happened that night? I was in the car and..."

Hermione leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands.

"I came home and found John in the hallway. We started fighting, but I wouldn't use magic in front of Dean. I didn't want him to think I was a monster. So John stabbed me through the shoulder with an iron blade, like Bobby told him. He thought it would kill me. And then he took Dean and left. I called for help and got myself fixed up." She shrugged. "I've had worse."

Sam thought back to the stories.

"You're a witch." He said slowly.

"Yes."

"You can do magic?"

She smiled at him, this time with hope in her eyes.

"Would you like to see?" She reached into her pocket and passed across her wand, grinning as he took it gingerly. "Vine wood." She told him. "Dragon heartstring."

"Dragons are real?" He stared at her in disbelief.

"Of course they're real. Your Uncle Charlie is a dragon tamer, for heavens sake." She frowned slightly. "And so is his boyfriend. Lovely man, if I remember correctly. Goes by the name of Hamish...or Mitchell? It's not important."

"Show me."

She took the wand back and waited.

Sam sighed.

"Show me, please?"

She smiled and flicked it, his hair drying instantly. Then she raised it again, smiled broadly and murmured "_Expecto Patronum._"

A large silver otter burst from the end of her wand and began swimming lazily around the kitchen. Sam stared at it, eyes wide with wonder.

"That's for fighting off dementors, isn't it?"

"How on earth do you remember that?" She cried, "I can't have told you more than twice in your entire childhood and you would have been six the first time!"

Sam shrugged.

"Good memory I suppose. So it's all real?"

"Yes."

"The chosen one?"

"Harry hates being called that, but yes."

"Hogwarts?"

"Still standing."

"Voldemort?"

"Not any more." She murmured grimly.

An unsettling thought occurred to him.

"But then if that's real...Then the war..."

Hermione sighed.

"I tried to keep a lot of the prejudices away from you. I wanted you to think of it in a good light and not...evil. But yes, the war was real."

He glanced at her arm, forehead crinkling.

"What does it mean? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, it's just...I'm curious."

She pushed her sleeve up and stared dispassionately at the scar. It looked a fresh as the day she'd got it.

"It means dirty blood. Someone whose magic wasn't inherited, like myself. My parents were dentists. A lot of people thought that made me less worthy than them."

Sam yawned and her brown eyes jumped to him.

"You need to go to bed, darling. We can talk more in the morning."

"Can I go to school tomorrow?" He asked sleepily. Hermione paused as she put the mugs in the sink before she laughed.

"No."

He almost pouted.

"Why not?"

"Because tomorrow we need to go shopping. You need decent clothes that fit. You can sleep in Dean's room tonight."

"What's wrong with my room?" he enquired, curious.

She laughed again.

"I don't know if you've noticed, darling, but you have grown a bit since you were twelve. I don't think you'd fit on your bed any more."

Sam glanced down at himself and grinned.

"Yeah, I suppose."

She pulled his head down so she could kiss his forehead.

"Night, sweetheart."

He smiled happily.

"Night, mum."

* * *

Sam came downstairs the next morning, half expecting to find that it was all a dream. But there she was, on the phone, one hand stirring the pan of eggs on the stove.

"It's wonderful, Bobby." She was saying. "It's just...I can't believe he's home. It's been almost five years and do you know how much that boy has _grown_. He's huge! Mary always said he'd be tall, taking after her father and all." She levelled the wooden spoon at him, where he stood in the doorway, without looking at him. "Get some bowls out, would you?"

Sam grinned.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Of course, you've got to come back. This is important!" She nodded reluctantly to whatever Bobby was saying. "Well, I suppose the vampires are _slightly_ more important. Are you sure you don't want a hand?" She tipped the eggs into the bowls Sam offered, phone still tucked between her shoulder and her head. "Don't you give me that nonsense, Singer. The day you get the drop on me is the day I give up." She blushed. "You too. Bye."

Sam set the bowls on the table and Hermione handed him a mug of tea to go with it.

"Bobby says hi." She said at last.

"He knows then? About the magic?"

"Yes, he's known for a long time." She shrugged. "You know how paranoid he gets. He began to wonder why I didn't have a visa or any such nonsense."

"So are you two..."

Hermione went pink and shovelled a mouthful of eggs into her mouth.

"Because it's fine if you are, it's just..."

The fireplace flared and Sam jumped a mile as a blue haired figure stepped out into the room.

"Hey, Aunt 'Mione, Sam."

"Edward?" Sam stared at him. "What the hell are you doing here?" That was quickly followed by the more rational question. "And why were you in the fireplace?"

"Ah."

Hermione frowned and swallowed hastily.

"You two know each other?" She asked, waving her fork between the two.

"Well, yeah." Sam's frown cleared. "He's a friend of mine. He was the one who convinced me to come back.

"Oh really?" Hermione folded her arms and glared at Edward, who was ruffling his hair sheepishly. "And what did he say his name was?"

"Er...Edward Lupin?"

Edward took a careful step away from Hermione.

"Look," He began. "You never said I couldn't go looking for him. And I didn't, I swear. It's just, we became friends and I knew how unhappy you both were and please don't tell Aunt Ginny, she'll kill me."

"I just might." Hermione complained dryly. "Still, appropriate introductions. Sam Winchester..."

"Granger." He corrected. Hermione blinked for a second, before she smiled.

"Apologies. Sam Granger, meet Teddy Lupin, Harry's godson and your adopted cousin."

"Technically," Teddy grinned. "He's my adopted cousin. I was here first you know."

Hermione sighed and went back to eating.

"So you didn't just run into me in town?" Sam asked sadly, thinking back to the friend he'd made almost a week ago.

Teddy's hair paled suddenly, causing Sam to frown.

"What? No, I really did just run into you. And I realised who you were and I figured you could use a friend. I may have lied a bit out _why_ I was over here, but still." He beamed, his hair's vibrancy returning. "Very real!"

"We're going shopping." Hermione said at last, as Sam stared at the other boy in shock. "Do you want to come or did you just come here to terrorize Sam?"

Teddy flopped down into a nearby armchair.

"Nah, I'll come. Don't suppose there's anything to eat?"

* * *

Teddy, as it turned out, was over in America hunting for strange magical creatures with his Aunt Luna. The family connections were really starting to make Sam's head hurt. The boy popped in frequently and he and Sam wrote to each other a lot, Sam getting used to communicating via owl.

The magic took a lot of getting used to. Hermione rather threw him in the deep end and in some ways it was scary, seeing all these things he'd been brought up to hate, happening around him. But in others it was wonderful. Hermione was happier, because she wasn't hiding a monumental secret from him. Sam realised what a fundamental part of her it was, a part she'd willingly given up for him and brother.

Although the painting had given him a fright.

* * *

"Mum..." He called eyeing the picture of the three men warily. "I think your painting is possessed."

"What?" Hermione wandered over to him. "Why?"

"This _used_ to be a picture of animals." Sam murmured. "And I swear this thing keeps moving when I'm not looking."

Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared at the picture. Sam leapt backwards when one of the figures flinched.

"Are you pranking my son?" She demanded, eyes narrowed.

The painting didn't respond for a moment, before the three figures relaxed.

"Oh come on, Hermione." One of the men pleaded, giving her some of the most impressive puppy dog eyes Sam had ever seen. "It was just a bit of fun."

"And Hogwarts only happen to pigs." She retorted. "Okay, sorry about this, Sammy. I should probably have mentioned these three. The man with the glasses is James Potter, he's Harry's dad." He did indeed look a lot like the man Sam had met. The resemblance was uncanny. "The man on his left is Sirius Black.", a tall man, with long black hair and grey eyes winked at Sam. "And the man on the right is Remus Lupin, Teddy's father." Remus, a sandy haired man, with several nasty scars, waved, looking somewhat apologetic. "There was a fourth, but I think someone ate him several years ago. Wasn't a great loss to the world." She bustled off, shaking her head.

"Harry donated us." James explained. "We're ghosts."

"We're not ghosts." Remus protested. "You'll scare the poor boy to death."

The poor boy in question scowled.

"So what are you?" He demanded.

"We are imprints of the soul, captured in canvas." Remus intoned, a spark of mischief in his tone.

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Ghosts sounds way better if you ask me."

"Well, no one did." Remus snapped.

"My fellow Marauders," James declared pompously, draping his arms around their shoulders. "As your fearless leader, it is my great honour to welcome..." He paused. "What's his name?" He whispered to Remus. The blonde man rolled his eyes.

"Sam." He hissed back, grimacing.

"SAM! To the Noble House of Granger, long may she wander past in her night dress."

"I heard that!" Hermione yelled.

Sirius grinned roguishly.

"And this is where we scram. Bye!"

The three Marauders ducked out of the corner of the frame as Hermione came back around the corner.

"Bloody pranksters." She muttered, poking at the canvas with her wand. There was a faint snickering and then silence.

"Where did they go?"

"To their other portrait." Hermione sighed. "They don't like that one as much. There's only two, you see, of all three of them and Harry keeps the other in his loft. Doesn't like looking at it. He gave me this one to cover the hole in the wall. It gives Teddy a reason to visit."

* * *

The year passed slowly, and although there was a gaping hole in their family where Dean belonged, it passed happily. Sam studied his heart out, spending night after night revising and studying. They went abroad for Christmas and Sam finally met all of his cousins, who seemed to be amazed that he couldn't do magic and asked him strange questions.

Hermione and Bobby, (who was there more often than not) helped him with his college applications. After which there was nothing to do but wait.

* * *

He didn't want to open it. He _really _didn't want to open it. It could say anything, but he really didn't want to open it. They were standing in the hall and Hermione was watching him with wide anxious eyes as he pulled out the sheet of paper.

Slowly, Sam looked up from the letter.

"I got a full ride." He whispered.

Hermione, and The Marauders, stared at him.

"You got a full ride." She repeated hollowly.

"You got a full ride." A smile bloomed across her face.

"YOU GOT A FULL RIDE!" She shouted jubilantly. "Come here. I am so proud of you!" She kissed his forehead and he started laughing as Sirius, James and Remus stared cheering.

"Well done, Samantha!" James jumped up and down, almost stepping on Remus.

"I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT'S GOING ON!" Yelled Sirius, who'd somehow managed to find some alcohol in his other painting and wasn't completely sober.

Hermione twirled in a circle, hugged him again and then froze.

"This is brilliant news. I've got to tell everyone." She whispered and grabbed the phone. Her thumb hovered over the buttons indecisively for a second before she hit the speed dial.

"Hey, Bobby...This is important. Sam got his letter." She paused for a moment. "Mmm. I know. Well then, maybe I won't tell you." She stuck her tongue out at Sam, who grinned back. "Keep your knickers on. He got a full ride." She beamed. "To STANFORD!"

She passed the phone over so Sam could listen to the sound of his usually stoic uncle whooping for joy. When he showed no signs of calming down any time soon, she hung up and hit the next button. This call took a bit longer to connect, but that was because it was cross Atlantic.

"Lily? It's your Aunt Hermione. Yes, hello darling. Listen, this is very important. I need you to tell your mum to tell your Grandmother that Sam...yes your cousin...that he got a full ride to Stanford. Repeat it back to me?...Okay, thank you sweetheart."

Sam stared at her.

"You know Grandma's going to tell everyone?"

"Obviously." Hermione grinned at him. "Why do you think I told her? Saves me doing the hard work. Conservation of labour, Sam. Grab your coat. Sirius Black if you don't think I can't see you making that obscene gesture, think again."

"What, why?" Sam and Sirius said.

She stared at them, incredulous.

"Because it's rude, Sirius, that's why. Also, we're going out to celebrate."

Sam was a bit dazed by the whole thing but he followed along willingly enough. They passed a black car on the road and his happy mood stumbled somewhat.

"Do you think Dean would be proud of me?" He asked quietly.

Hermione smiled fondly.

"Of course he would. There's no one in this world your brother cares more about than you. Not even your father." She added, when he opened his mouth to contradict her. "Sam, you can't ask your brother to choose between the two people who are the most important to him. It wouldn't be fair. But trust me on this. Your brother is proud of you. We both are. You turned out perfect."

* * *

Sam got no less than sixteen congratulations letters from his cousins and a congratulatory hat from his Uncle George. It had antlers on it.

* * *

_**Second last chapter.**_

_**Thoughts?  
**_

_**It's two in the morning, powering through!  
**_

_**Bewildered and sleepy,**_

_**Hood**_


	6. Dean

"You ever lose someone special?"

Dean stared at the barmaid.

"Why?"

She shrugged.

"Dunno. You look the type."

"Yeah. I have."

She sighed, resting her cloth on the bar.

"You know, sometimes I just wish I could go back for one last conversation. Just to get the story straight." She smiled at him and Dean remembered she was one of the victims who'd lost their boyfriend to the siren. "You ever feel like that?"

"All the time."

* * *

Dean shut the door of the Impala carefully, running his fingers down the hood.

The house hadn't changed much in the last eight years. Still slightly foreboding, still somewhat battered, still...home. For a moment he considered turning back around and leaving.

An irritated voice spoke from behind him.

"Are you going to go in or just stare at it?"

Dean whirled and stared at the woman watching him from the bottom of the drive. Hermione was now well into her forties, but somehow didn't look a day over thirty. There were no wrinkles on her face or grey in her hair, or at least, none that he could see. To him, she was timeless.

"Auntie 'Mione." He whispered, pretending for a second that he was still eight years old and this woman could fix everything.

"Dean." she acknowledged. She smiled at him and opened her arms. He bounded down the path and hugged her, picking her up from the ground as he did so.

Hermione chuckled, rubbing his back.

"Have you grown again?" She demanded as he set her back on her feet. There were a few stray tears drifting down both their faces, but they were ignored.  
Dean had hit a final growth spurt when he was nineteen and at six foot one he now towered over her. Not that he hadn't towered over her since he was fourteen.

"No ma'am." he denied, grinning slightly.

"Liar." She stepped back and looked him over critically. Dean was used to that look. Hermione had given him the same one every time he'd come back from a hunt. Calculating how injured he was and how much she was going to have to yell at his father.

"Carry the shopping." Was all she said though. Dean did as he was told, scooping up the bags that had been sitting at her feet. He followed her into the house, putting the food away without being told, a habit he hadn't realised he'd kept.

Eventually she pushed him into a chair at the kitchen table, dumping a mug of tea in front of him. She sat down opposite him, watching him carefully.

"Why are you here?" She asked quietly, a serious look in her eyes.

Dean flinched.

"I came back to apologise." He said, tracing the dents in the table with his finger.

"Why?" She asked, incredulous.

He shrugged.

"I never came back." He said at last. "I should have trusted you, done something, anything. But I didn't. I just stood there and..."

"Dean, none of that was your fault." She smiled at him. "The last thing I wanted was you getting in the middle of a fight between me and your father. You could have been seriously hurt." Hermione shook her head. "You've got nothing to apologise for."

"'Mione..."

"No. Listen to me, Dean. Your father and I placed you in an impossible position and for that I am incredibly sorry. So don't you dare think for a second that any of that was your fault. You were _sixteen_ for crying out loud."

Dean kept his head down and didn't look at her.

"How are you?" She asked eventually, sighing.

"I'm fine." She raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Honest!" Hermione was one of the few people who could make him feel guilty even when he _was_ telling the truth. The only other person who could manage that was Sam. "I've been doing some easy hunts recently. Nothing major. I figured I could have some time off. I thought I'd come and visit you."

Hermione snorted.

"After eight years you thought you'd come and visit?"

Dean scratched at the back of his head.

"When you say it like that it sounds bad." He joked.

"Does it really?"

Dean smirked. His Aunt 'Mione. Queen of Sarcasm. Then he sobered, remembering his reason for staying away.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I just...I figured I ought to come back, before it was too late." Dean swallowed some of his tea. "You know, I haven't seen Sam since he left. I drove him to the train station that night. Asked him where he was going. Nearly threw a fit, when he said he was coming back here."

Hermione winced at that.

"He told me. He turned up, middle of the night, soaking wet and asked if he could go to school in the morning." She laughed. "Never been quite so pleased to see him. He's at Stanford now, reading law."

Dean stared at her, impressed.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. He got a full ride."

Dean nodded and changed the subject to something safer.

"How come you never got married?" He asked, sipping the dregs of his tea.

Hermione smirked slightly.

"I was engaged once. It was a long engagement. I came over here to go to University, and I met your mother. Eventually she made me your godmother when Sam was born. I have never been so proud as I was then. Mary was my best friend in a lot of ways. When she died, it was obvious I had to do the job I'd promised to do. So I made my move over here permanent. Took a job that I could work from home as Sam was too young to leave in day care. Ron, my fiancé, couldn't handle the idea of moving to America or raising another woman's children. He didn't understand why I wouldn't come back to Britain. So I broke it off and sent the ring back. He forgave me eventually. After that I was busy. Dealing with school fights, Sam's delicate tummy...There were places you had to be taken, training I had to teach. I didn't have time to be messing around with men." She gave him a sideways look. "Besides you two were really possessive."

Dean flushed slightly.

"You knew about that?" He asked weakly.

"That my two boys would glare at any man who looked twice at me? Yes, I knew. I thought it was adorable. Besides it wouldn't have been right and John would have thrown a fit. Bobby probably wouldn't have liked it either."

She smiled at him and he flushed.

"Do you mind? That I'm a hunter? I know you hated teaching us that stuff and..."

She blinked slightly at the abrupt change of topic and paused to think.

"Does it make you happy?" She replied.

Dean considered that for a moment. Hunting wasn't something he did because he wanted to. It was just what he _did._

"Yeah, in a way."

She huffed out a breath.

"Dean, I think being a hunter suits you. You're saving lives and helping people and that is a wonderful thing. I'm incredibly proud of you. However it's not the life I would have chosen for you. It's not the life your mother would have chosen for you either. I remember her telling me that you two would grow up to be doctors or lawyers or firemen...something great. She could see it. Although she once told me you could grow up to be a trans-gender vegan poet and she'd still be proud of you, so perhaps her perspective wasn't that great."

Dean frowned.

"Yeah but Mom didn't know anything about demons or monsters. She was normal."

"You think so?" Hermione unbuttoned the sleeve of her shirt and rolled it up past her forearm. There was a scar just below her elbow that had been there for as long as Dean could remember. "Before she asked me to be your godmother your mother gave me this scar. She took a silver knife and cut my arm to check if I would bleed red. When I first met her, I sneezed and she replied with "_Christo_". Mary put salt in almost all of her cooking, especially when there were guests around. I was slightly worried John would die of a high blood pressure. Tell me Dean, does that sound like the actions of a woman who knows nothing about the supernatural?"

Dean stared at her in amazement.

"So you're saying my Mom was a hunter?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I don't know what she was. If she had been a hunter she'd certainly retired by the time I knew her. She had you and John and Sammy. Personally I think she went to whatever lengths necessary to keep her family safe. We never mentioned it. The supernatural was an off limits topic between us." She scoffed. "That and her marriage."

Dean winced slightly, the memories of a life time ago, still horribly fresh.

"Does Sammy know about this?"

She eyed him warily.

"No one does. I considered telling John but I didn't see why I should do him any favours." Hermione scowled into her teacup. Dean sighed and asked the question he really wanted to know.

"How is Sammy? He texted me on my birthday, but haven't heard from him in...years really."

Hermione smiled proudly and stood, moving across the kitchen to the bookshelf.

"He's doing great. Loving college. The works hard but you know how Sam is. Bookworm through and through." She rummaged through a pile of papers. "Aha!"

She sat down again and slid the picture over to him. "This was taken...three weeks ago? He's got himself a girlfriend and he brought her round for dinner."

Dean examined the photo. Sam was in the middle, looming over everyone, with Hermione and his girlfriend on either side. He glanced up to see Hermione wiping a tear away from her eye.

"What's wrong?"

"He introduced me as his mother." She smiled down at the table. "The poor girl got so confused when I burst into tears. Nice girl though. Her name is Jessica. Sam virtually worships the ground she walks on. They're thinking about living together. You should call him. He misses you."

Dean ignored that.

"You are, you know?" Hermione glanced up at him, confused. "Our mother, I mean. I know I never said it growing up, but you were a much better parent to us than Dad ever was."

She stared at him.

"Do you really mean that?" she asked quietly, eyes glistening with unspilled tears.

"Course I do."

The tears overspilled and she got up and hugged him.

"Regardless of blood or what your father says, you two are my sons no matter what." She glared fiercely. "You hear that Dean? You need anything, hell or high water I will help you." She kissed the top of his head and for a second he was ten again and still just old enough to be tucked into bed with a kiss and a story. "I love you."

"Love you too." he muttered, blushing.

He was twenty two, dammit.

Hermione chuckled as though she could read his mind and returned to her seat. Harry jumped up onto Dean's lap and stared at him accusingly.

"How the hell are you still alive?" Dean asked, amazed.

"Kneezles live a long time. I had Crookshanks for almost four years and he was thirty by that point."

"What?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she stared at him.

"I thought Crookshanks was just a story that you made up for me and Sam."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"How imaginative do you think I am? There's some truth in it."

"Huh. How's Sam doing with money and stuff?"

Hermione shrugged.

"He's got a full scholarship and I'm paying for what his college fund doesn't cover. He's getting by, I think he's bar tending at the weekends." She frowned suddenly. "We've still got it you know."

"Got what?"

"Your college fund."

Dean stared at her.

"I don't have a college fund."

She laughed.

"Figured John wouldn't tell you about it." She linked her fingers together. "I started one for you when you were...seven, I think? Your Uncle Bobby found out about it and began paying in too. There's a fair bit of money in there. Because I started it, John couldn't touch it." She smiled at him. "It's yours to do with as you will."

He was still staring at her.

"You were never gonna make me were you?"

"Make you what?"

"Make me be a hunter." Dean tugged on his hair. "You were always going to give me a choice."

"I thought that was obvious. Dean, sweetheart, why do you keep referring to your father in the past tense?"

Dean sighed.

"Can we go sit out back?"

"Sure."

Hermione settled them on the bench outside and they basked for a moment in the warm sunlight.

"Bit after Sammy left, Dad kinda went off the deep end. Blamed me for letting Sam leave. Blamed you for...well everything actually. He was convinced you were some kind of monster." Hermione flinched. "We couldn't find that thing that killed mom and I just...I guess I lost it with him. Figured I couldn't take being around the man who driven away both my mother and my brother." He was staring at his boots, avoiding her eyes. "So I took the Impala and the stuff that was mine and I left. Struck out of my own. I knew enough to keep myself going and when there isn't any hunts I worked some mechanics jobs."

"I know." She sounded amused and he glanced up at her, frowning.

"How the hell could you know?"

"Language." She teased. "And do you think your Uncle Bobby wouldn't be keeping tabs on you? Every couple of months someone would turn up under the name Dean Granger, earning a few pounds in some backwater alley."

"You've been keeping an eye on me?" He replied, shocked.

"Of course I have. What kind of godmother do you think I am?"

Dean chuckled to himself.

"You're kinda scary sometimes, you know that?"

"I've been told." She said wryly. "Besides it takes more that "a bit scary" to raise Winchesters."

The sunlight caught the metal on his watch and he frowned.

"Hey, 'Mione? How long have you been a witch?"

Had Hermione been standing up, she probably would have fainted.

"How on earth did you come to that conclusion?"

Dean didn't look at her.

"When I was about fourteen, I came downstairs in the middle of the night. You and Uncle Bobby were arguing..." Hermione eyes slid closed and she paled. "I heard the whole thing. I didn't really believe it, thought maybe I'd imagined it. And then dad was hunting you. He _stabbed _you. Then there was the watch that just appeared from nowhere, Harry Potter, Uncle George...Dammit, 'Mione your painting winked at me when I came in."

By this point Hermione looked like she'd gone into shock.

"You never said anything." She gasped.

"I didn't want to be right." He whispered. "I didn't want you to be a monster."

"I'm not..." She swallowed. "I'm not a monster, Dean."

"I guessed that."

She stared at him.

"What?"

"I'm sorry but what kind of witch, spends her life, raising two boys, to kill witches? It doesn't make any sense. George said you gave up so much so much for us and that...doesn't sound like someone evil. Or at least not to me it doesn't. But I figured you'd be mad at me for abandoning Sammy and letting dad hurt you and leaving and..."

Hermione wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Oh thank Merlin." She whispered.

Dean drew back, staring at her alarmed.

"What?"

She smiled at him, tearfully.

"I thought I'd lost you." She whispered.

* * *

_**Who wants an epilogue?  
**_

_**Thanks to all my reviewers, so far. Keep it coming.**_

_**Two thirty in the morning.**_

_**Hood**_

_**P.S chris7100, would you hush! I'm doing what I can, ya daft wee sheep!**_

_**:)**_


	7. Settled

"Dean Granger, if you even think about trekking blood into this house...!"

"She's got you there, kid."

Dean glowered at the painting as he kicked off his boots, unwilling to spill his precious cargo.

"Shut up, Sirius." He grumbled.

"Touchy!"

Dean made his was past the three pouting pranksters and into the house proper. Sam was lounging on the couch, his feet dangling comically off one end as he read. The twenty one year old eyed his brother suspiciously.

"What have you got behind your back?"

Dean blinked innocently.

"Nothing."

"Yeah, right." Sam turned back to his book and, grinning, Dean dumped the snowball on top of his head.

"Merry Chrstmas!" He yelled and ran for it.

"That's my boy!" James cheered as he legged it past him, Sam chasing after him.

They swerved past Bobby, who was rolling his eyes, through the hall, into the kitchen, circled Hermione twice, before Dean made a break for the back door.

"Oh, for heaven sake." Hermione muttered as Sam threw his brother into a snow drift.

"You gonna stop them?"

She smiled watching the two men start a snowball fight.

"Wouldn't dream of it." She pulled out her wand and muttered a nifty little incantation under her breath. Sam and Dean yelled as they suddenly found themselves being pelted with snow.

"An' you were a prefect at that school o' yours?" Bobby asked doubtfully.

She kissed his cheek and grinned.

"Exactly. Which meant I knew how not to get caught. Honestly, don't you learn anything living with me?"

The brothers came in sometime later, soaking wet and complaining about unfair advantages.

No one had heard from John Winchester in almost six months and with the occasional exception of Harry, who had taken to hissing whenever his name was mentioned, no one cared either. Dean and Bobby still went on hunts, although Dean now based himself in Sioux Falls at Bobby's old house. He may have spent more time fixing cars than hunting but it suited him. He had a life, which had some form of normality.

Sam was in his third year of school and continued on as he always had. Jessica was away visiting her family and he'd come home for the holidays, unwilling to stay in their heavily warded flat on his own.

Hermione smiled around the kitchen, at her family, before her eyes caught on the picture of Mary, which was where it had always been.

_I kept my promise. _She thought happily. _Didn't I?_

* * *

**_How was that? Short and sweet._**

**_Now I'm sorry to announce that I'm going away for a bit and I don't know how reliable my internet connection's going to be. Sorry!_**

**_A great thanks to all my reviewers and you lovely people for actually being interested in this slightly unusual story._**

**_Love to you all,_**

**_Once again, really rather tired,_**

**_Marion E A Hood._**


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